


Under the Mask

by the_many_worlds_traveler



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prohibition Era, M/M, Marriage, Memory Loss, roaring 20's
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-13
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2020-10-18 00:00:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 69,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20629715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_many_worlds_traveler/pseuds/the_many_worlds_traveler
Summary: It all started the night of a masquerade ball. Years of comfort and stability are on shaky ground when Logan's memories of their time together begins to fade, leaving Virgil to help hold the threads of their history together before it comes unraveled.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the Masquerade AU, co-created by myself and the uber talented Artssoon_symphony on Instagram. This chapter is written by yours truly! Please go check out Symph on Wattapad at LaBassoon  
CW: Memory deterioration, frustration, and thoughts of mortality. Otherwise, it is all very soft.

_Spring 1968_

“You’re fidgeting, Lo.”

An older gent, eyes fixed on the distance, grumbled softly and looked down at his hand. Weathered and ink-stained fingertips traced the cool edges of the stone pendant at his chest. The natural amethyst point set in silver hung from a meticulously polished silver chain had begun to cloud and lose its color years ago. Logan learned later that quartz naturally lost its luster with time and wear, but that never stopped him from wearing it every day for more than forty years. It was his constant. Every morning, he gently removed it from a fine wooden box, inlaid with mother of pearl- a retirement gift from his former master- and strung the chain around his neck where it hung below his well-worn but neatly pressed shirt.

In times of stress or disquiet, his hand would absentmindedly rest on his chest where the pendant lay under layers of cotton and tweed. It was only in the privacy of his home he would wear it freely, letting his eye catch moments of sunlight hitting the facets just right. Something about the weight of the stone against his skin put his tightly-wound mind at ease. Knowing it was there was all the assurance he needed to get through the most difficult of days. It was his anchor.

Logan wrapped his fingers around the amethyst for a moment and released it with a heavy sigh, resting his hand on his husband’s knee. Virgil could feel the effects of Logan’s anxieties more keenly than the man himself. He could see the intrinsic muscles in his jaw tighten, his brow lower minutely, his gaze turn to some invisible object in the distance- those were obvious signs. It was when his hands sought that poor old rock around his neck, Virgil knew there was something heavier on his mind.

He gently slipped Logan’s glasses from his nose and folded them neatly onto the table. Brushing the pad of his thumb along Logan’s brow, he could see the tension release from his features ever so slightly. Virgil knew every way to calm him. In their early years, he would have never guessed that the steel-mannered valet of some wealthy elite would respond so warmly to touch. Logan was a man that kept his distance in every respect, but Virgil was the first to close the gap. Though some may argue it was Logan who made the first move. And some may say it was an act of “other forces”. 

Virgil traced the line of his jaw and placed a soft kiss on his lips to draw out a hint of a smile. Logan sighed again, taking Virgil’s hand in his, pressing it to his lips. “I know what you’re thinking, dear. I’m fine.”

“I’m much too tired to be playing this game with you, Lo,” Virgil said with a smirk, letting Logan place their hands in his lap. “Just tell me what’s on your mind so I can move on with my day.”

“It’s nothing, my gem. I’m just…” Logan’s voice trailed as his hand found its way back to the pendant.

Virgil shifted to face him, tired eyes tinged with worry. “Just?”

“I’m just trying to remember.”

Virgil’s chest tightened just seeing the look on his husband’s face. He was such a strong, resolute man of principle and intelligence. Seeing the one person he could only describe as the very foundation keeping him grounded through all these years waver was, at times, too much. He had always looked to Logan for stability. In his mind, there wasn’t another man on earth who knew more about the world than him. To know that archive in his mind, all that knowledge, was losing hold was overwhelming. Those moments of seeing the spark in his eyes dull, like when he just loses his place in a book, makes his mind race. To even entertain the possibility of losing him was impossible. Watching Logan’s frustration build at his own deterioration is heartbreaking.

The only thing worse was that despite it all, Logan still took the time to comfort and care for his husband. It was ingrained in him. He knew in his bones that this was more important than anything fate threw at him. Seeing to his partner’s happiness was of absolute import in his eyes. That much he knew with certainty, even if his mind was no more sound than sand against the waves.

Logan feared very little. He saw death as an inevitability. He understands that time is in constant motion pulling them ever forward. These were hard truths he never fought.

What truly scared him, however, was losing Virgil, losing years of memories. Years of building a life in the face of judgement and uncertainty.

Until the day he met him, Logan’s life was that of service. He felt neither joy nor displeasure. Black and white. His work was his reality and this suited him fine. He didn’t need more. He didn’t know how to want more because everything he could need was provided for him.

Until the night of a… The night of a...

“Lo, dear, what’s wrong?” Virgil sank from his seat to his knees, placing himself in front of Logan, reaching for the tears welling in his husband’s eyes. “Please tell me.” He tried to keep his voice even and calm, but the crack in his words gave him away.

Logan took Virgil’s hands in his and closed his eyes with a sad smile as if trying to pull at the threads of some distant memory. “Do you remember,” he began softly, “how we met?”

He opened his eyes to a low chuckle, meeting his watery gaze with Virgil’s.

“Of course.”

Logan shifted in his seat and beckoned his love to sit next to him so he could feel his gentle heat against his skin. He grasped the pendant again, unsure of how to continue. “Will you tell me?”

Virgil settled next to him, looping his arm through Logan’s and resting his head on his shoulder. His hair brushed Logan’s cheek as Virgil calmed his breathing, matching the comforting rhythm of the rise and fall of Logan’s chest. Steady, strong, constant.

“It was a masquerade ball,” Virgil began.

“It was…”

“And in a room full of people, you stood out.”

“I did?”

“You were the only one not wearing your mask.”

“Oh.”

Virgil looked up to see the start of a blush spread across his cheeks. Logan leaned forward and replaced his glasses on his nose in a sorry attempt to covertly cover his face.

“And you looked less than pleased to be there,” Virgil continued.

“I wasn’t. Not right away.”

“I guess the night did… improve, didn’t it…?”

Logan slipped his arm from around Virgil’s and pulled him closer to his side. He could feel the breath hitch in his husband’s chest as he melted into the hold.

“It did,” Logan responded, voice just above a whisper. It was coming back in fits and bursts. He wanted to hold onto this while he could. “Tell me. What happened next?”


	2. From Across the Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chance meeting, some prying eyes, and a bit of wine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the jazz era, kittens!   
This installment is written by my friend and co-author, Artsoon_Symphony (LaBassoon- Wattpad). Please be sure to check out Symph's other writing and gorgeous art!  
Enjoy!
> 
> CW: Food mention, mild drinking

_Spring 1925_

“I do not see why you two are insistent on my attendance to these frivolous parties.” Logan stated insipidly, eyeing the blue velvet outfit his masters had dressed him in; frankly, it was flamboyant and ridiculous, decked out in ruffles and glitter. The only thing more ludicrous than the outfit itself was the blue mask that was meant to be put upon his face; the blue, laced, butterfly mask that would take the place of his normal circular spectacles (which he needed to see by the way, he was as blind as a bat) and be worn to conceal his identity. The idea of a masquerade never stuck with him. Everyone knew who was invited, so what was the point of concealing an identity?

Not to mention that the party was _big_ and _loud_. Logan felt completely undressed and out classed as rich nobles spoke to one another, giggling and taking tiny sips of champagne. Every conversation in the room felt completely useless: the new form of musical swing and jazz, the sudden boost in the economy, talks of the banks and the stock market, young women attempting to meet some older men to inherit their riches. All of these ideas disgusted Logan. He couldn’t begin to relate to the amounts of money these people made, the amounts of money that this crowd wasted on a surplus of food and some strings and piano to play for their own entertainment.

“Because it is fun!” Roman insisted, grabbing Logan’s arm. 

“And you’re supposed to wear your mask.” Remus added, adjusting the black laces that held Logan’s black cotton shirt closed (Logan always seemed to mess up his outfit in some sort of way despite being a neat and tidy person). “It is party etiquette.” 

“I cannot see with it on, Sir.” Logan complained. He adjusted the laces above his head so that the blue glitter mask would rest upon his forehead. “Also, I am only here because you two requested my presence. If you require my assistance, I will be over there.” Logan pointed to a nearly abandoned food table.

Roman pouted. “If only you would enjoy yourself, Logan. Try to meet others, then you will have fun!”

Logan nervously fidgeting with his sleeves. “I tried, I am not one of _you_, Sir.” 

Roman and Remus both frowned as Logan retreated to his corner. He was like this at every party: straight faced, stiff, introverted. They just wanted him to have a friend.

\---

Virgil was loathing the party as well. He hated socialization. He hated crowds. He hated loud music. He hated dancing. He only came because he was expected to by society. As a rich man, it was his job to party. It was his job to entertain. It was his job to be lazy and drink. 

He sighed as D dragged him along the waves of people. “You’ll enjoy yourself tonight, I promise.” D hissed, a smile forming under his half mask elaborately decorated as a snake. “Besides, I’ve heard the Andersons are here, and you know how your company needs to gain a good connection with oil for the automobile industry.” 

“They’re so boring.” Virgil whined, fixing his falling purple cat mask for the sixth time that night. “Everyone is boring. I want to go in my room and be alone, maybe read a book and look at the nature outside. That is fun to me, not these dreadful social events that avoid any real discussion!” 

“Just try to make a friend!” D insisted. 

Virgil groaned, about ready to give up hope until his eyes caught on one man. He was leaning against a wall, mask in one hand and the other shyly holding a cup of cider. His eyes remained focused on the floor, a nervous frown etched into his freckled face. Orange hair was tied neatly in a bow with a black lace with bits of shorter hair that neatly framed his square face. Occasionally he would adjust his glasses and bite his lips, letting out a nervous expression before returning to his normal stone composure. 

He seemed new, and he seemed interesting.

“I found my person.” Virgil decided, stepping away from D. 

D looked at the man. “Oh? Why him?”

“He seems to loathe partying just as much as I.” 

Virgil sauntered over to the food table, grabbing a drink for himself before slumping next to the man. “Dreadful, isn’t it?” he settled on after a hefty debate on how to introduce himself. 

The man didn’t answer.

Virgil cleared his throat a little.

The man jumped slightly, the liquid in his cup almost splashing out due to the harsh and sudden movement. “M-My apologies, Sir. I was unaware that your line of question was directed at my presence.” 

_Sir?_ Well, it looked like he was at least well mannered. “It is quite alright.” Virgil smiled. “You do not seem to be enjoying yourself.”

“That I am not.”

“My name is Virgil.” 

The man smiled a tiny bit. “That is a pretty name. My name is Logan, quite boring I am afraid, but frankly it matches my personality.”

“Is it boring, or is it safe?” Virgil questioned. “Because boring people have no charisma to them, but people who play it safe are more interesting. You seem like an intelligent individual. Partying seems like something for children. You seem more like an adult than anyone here.” 

A small blush appeared on Logan’s cheeks. “You seem more reasonable than any man in this room. Perhaps we should spend the evening being safe together?”

Virgil nodded. “I know where the kitchen is. I know where a quiet room is. Come with me and you shall have the most quiet and food filled evening of your life.” 

“I do like food.” Logan agreed with a smile.

\---

Unknown to the two, Roman and Remus watched as Virgil pulled Logan away with a smile, and Logan stumbled along with a similar happy expression plastered onto his delicate pale face. “How did our own Logan manage to befriend the dreadful Virgil Anx?” Roman asked. 

“It is odd.” Remus said. “Virgil never wishes to socialize.”

“Nor does Logan.”

“Perhaps it is fate?” 

“Possibly. Do you wish to spy as well?”

“YES!” 

The two shook hands. The brothers never managed to get along, and they always competed for their parents' praise. However, when it came to important matters, they were able to settle their differences and work together. 

And spying on Logan? Well, that was most certainly an important task.

The two twins decided to depart, looking for their red headed servant and the dreadfully boring Virgil, but they were left with nothing.

“Did they go outside?” Roman asked. 

“Most likely,” Remus responded.

Roman groaned. “Dreadful, Logan is going to ruin his suit.” 

“Let him have a little fun!”

“I suppose you’re right….”

\---

Virgil giggled as Logan caught a piece of cheese in his mouth. “This is certainly more entertaining than dancing in a crowded room.” Virgil whispered with a smile, enjoying the cool breeze on his face from the night air. “You have a talent for catching food.”

Logan’s face flushed. “Well, I’m afraid I am acting a bit silly around you.” he admitted, tucking a loose strand of hair behind his ear. The breeze kept blowing his ponytail out of place, and he knew he would be scolded by his masters later for the disaster that was on his head, but he couldn’t care less at the moment. “I am trying to at least be somewhat entertaining.” 

“Good, I hate boring people.” Virgil sighed. “Well, I dislike people in general, well, except for you of course. You get a solid good rating at the moment.”

“That’s not very comforting….” Logan smiled. “I’m afraid that being a servant makes me quite boring indeed. There’s nothing to my head but facts and cleaning techniques. I am not necessarily the life at the party.” 

“You’re a servant?”

Logan blushed. “You’re not? I assumed you were because no one takes the time to talk to me, and you looked pained at the party as well!” 

Virgil shook his head. “I just dislike grand things. Say, who are your masters? If I’ve never seen you before, then surely your masters must never attend events. Perhaps they are as charming as you?” 

Logan couldn’t help but smile at the word “charming”. Being a poor Irish immigrant, charming was the last word that came to people’s minds when referring to him. “Roman and Remus,” Logan watched as Virgil’s smile twitched into a grin, then exploded into full on laughter. “What? What is so funny!?” 

“They’re the worst.” Virgil groaned, laying on his back.

“I don’t think they’d take too kindly to you saying that.” 

“Well, you don’t have to tell them!” Virgil gasped. “I mean, it is fairly obvious we don’t see eye to eye, but there’s no reason to go spreading the word! You have to promise you won’t tell. Promise?” 

Logan smiled. “Promise, though I don’t see what they do to aggravate you.” 

“They’re so extraordinarily… loud...and bossy!”

“Yes, I agree, but they are intelligent and kind. Perhaps you are overlooking there good qualities.” 

“Perhaps…”

Logan pulled his knees to his chest and plopped another block of cheese in his mouth before turning towards the star filled sky. Clouds rushed over the purple-black landscape, blocking the full moon that hung happily in the scenery. It was quiet once again, the two only breaking the silence when they chewed food or sipped their wine.

Eventually Virgil broke the silence. “I think the party is about to end.”

“Yes, I should return to Roman and Remus.” Logan got up and held out his hand as Virgil stood as well. “Thank you for a pleasant evening.” 

Virgil grinned. “Come to the next party, perhaps we shall see each other again. I’ll be sure to start accepting invites from Roman and Remus from now on.”

“Yes, that would be nice. I’ll see you soon.” 


	3. A Pinch of Salt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! Here is installment 3 of the Masquerade AU, Under the Mask! This little domestic chapter is written by yours truly :)  
  
As always, please check out my co-author, Symph on Instagram (@artsoon_symphony) and Wattpad (LaBassoon)
> 
> CW: Memory Loss, food and drink mention, mild panic attack, bad jokes

_Spring 1968_

Mornings were by far the hardest. For years Logan had a routine. Awake at 5:00am, dress, set the table for breakfast, and return to his chair in the library to read until his masters rose at 7:00am. He would then go about his day tending to Roman’s whims while Remus was away at class until his return at 6:00pm. Prepare for supper, take a turn around the garden with Remus to discuss his studies, and promptly turn in for bed where he would read until 9:00pm.

These days it wasn’t so simple. His bones would protest when he pushed himself out of bed. The book at his bedside would go unread, but not for lack of effort. When at one time, his days were filled with activity and time moved at a hare’s pace, he now has little to keep him occupied. His days are quiet, broken only by the sounds of Virgil pacing from one room to another, periodically checking in on him as he sat in his study surrounded by books and periodicals tossed aside in frustration.

He can’t even bring himself to partake in the one activity that brought him so much comfort through his youth. Reading had always been his nourishment. When, as a young child, food was scarce and living was lean, he found himself getting lost in the sea of print of castaway newspapers. As an adolescent and a budding adult, he set out to expand his knowledge the only way he knew how. He was a student only to himself and the books he could hold. A self-taught man.

Logan would never describe himself as prideful, but feeling his once sharp mind dull around the edges filled him with a raw disquiet. He would try to distract himself with some inane activity around his home, sweeping, pulling weeds, but the ever-limiting capabilities of his body and his wavering focus made even once simple tasks more difficult by the day.

And Virgil’s constant fussing was no help. Logan would catch himself speaking hotly towards Virgil and his attempts to assist and coddle him, which he would immediately regret. He saw how tired his husband was, exhausted from the worry and the energy spent in taking care of his partner and himself. But he always took it with a grain of salt in the form of a sweetly tart retort of his own, or, if the weight of it all was really getting to him, with a smile and a firm hand around his. When Logan’s words were sharp, Virgil was nothing but patient. He could see the rare moments when Virgil wanted to retaliate, when his nerves were frayed and his mind pulled taught, but he rarely did. He can count the number of times on one hand, because he can still remember each one. At least for now.

He simply had nothing better to do and boredom was picking away at his mind like so many seconds ticking away on the old wooden clock on the mantle.

So he spent his days instead trying to come up with the answer to a question that has plagued him for forty years. Why did Virgil choose him?

“How do you put up with me?,” Logan had once asked him years ago. Virgil only shrugged, squeezed his shoulder with a knowing smile and walked away. Utterly vexing. 

Where his days were senselessly long, the nights, however, offered him something in return for his daily spiral into monotony. The two of them would sit side by side, comfortably draped in an old threadbare blanket to scare away the chill, and remember. 

They wandered through dust-covered memories of gilded parties and luscious music, stolen moments of quiet contentment over pilfered party food eaten on a balcony high above the roar of the revelry below. 

They remembered the moments of shy laughter over every little nothing, tears over painful truths, and terrifying realities threatening to overtake them. They lived through so much and Logan was determined to cling to every tiny scrap of memories he can manage to hold onto in his aching hands. Thank the powers that be he had Virgil to lead the way.

The old clock above the fireplace struck seven and the sun was beginning to dip beneath the hills in the distance. Their home was a far cry from secluded, with the closest neighbor a stone’s throw from the front porch, but their little town was quiet and their street just above a whisper of activity once the dinner bell rang. The sounds of children playing in the street and cars ferrying hard working men and women home from a long day of nine to five was replaced by the gentle rustle of wind through the old oaks in the front yard and little else.

Logan sat at the kitchen table, pen in hand and a black leather notebook open to cream-colored pages lying untouched in front of him. He stared at the blank page- every one before was a torrent of fledgling sentences and scratched out passages. He stared and the wordless expanse stared back. 

The smell of vegetables roasting among sprigs of rosemary and the gentle brushing of a slotted spoon to saucepan filled the room. Virgil hummed softly to the rhythm of his stirs, shifting slightly from side to side. In the wide breadth of Logan’s knowledge, it came up alarmingly short in the kitchen. He’s an awful cook- just atrocious- not helped by years and practice. And practice he did. His masters’ former cook, a caring paternal figure by the name of Patton, tried his best to teach him even the most fundamental of basics. Try as he might, every omelette shared the same charcoal fate as the one before.

Despite his comfortable upbringing, Virgil had a knack for it. Patton was delighted by how natural he was in front of a stove. He would argue he could only manage the simple stuff, but it suited Logan’s equally simple pallet just fine. 

And this little unsung skill was really what allowed them to weather the Depression of the 30’s largely unscathed in their little pocket of the universe.

Logan looked up from his notebook, letting his eyes drift around the narrow, buttercup colored kitchen until he rested on the nape of Virgil’s neck. He braced his hands on the edge of the table and quietly hoisted himself up to standing, planting his feet firmly on the pristine white tiles. One light step and another. One more.

Logan stood behind him, wrapping his arms lightly around Virgil’s middle so as not to impede his work. He began to move to his rhythm, swaying to the tune of a song long forgotten. Resting his forehead in Virgil’s lavender-scented hair, he closed his eyes and let himself be in the moment.

“Logan, this is nice and all, but I need to get the pan out of the oven. Taste this.” Virgil dipped the tip of the spoon in the saucepan and turned gracefully in Logan’s arms to face him, free hand cupped under the dripping spoon. Logan brought the spoon to his lips, taking in the flavors of the cream sauce. Virgil eyed him with an expectant smirk.

Logan took his sweet time, analyzing each flavor profile. It drove Virgil mad, but he did it anyway. There was something about the way that he quirked his eyebrow waiting for Logan’s answer that just endeared him. It was like taunting your crush on the playground, but instead of pulling pigtails he pulled this:

“Needs salt.”

“You say that every time, Lo. That can’t possibly be it.”

“If I keep saying it, it should stand to reason that salt must be the answer. Logic.”

Virgil rolled his eyes, turning his back to Logan with a smirk. “Oh yes, ‘logic’. How silly of me to assume you were kidding since you’ve said it almost every day for the past thirty-some years we’ve been living under the same roof.”

Logan leaned in to kiss the nape of his neck before returning to his seat and his notebook. 

“Should I ask about that notebook you’ve been brooding over?” Virgil asked back turned to tend to the open stove. Logan had a sneaking suspicion that under that soft brown hair was an extra set of eyes. Since that was absurd and, it should go without saying, impossible, he chalked it up to his overtly alert nature that only seemed to become more heightened with age.

Logan looked down at the blank sheet and closed the cover with a dejected sigh, sliding it to the side. “It’s nothing.”

Virgil set down a steaming plate of roasted spring asparagus and button mushroom caps specked with fresh rosemary, all glistening with a light coating of olive oil. A small side of white sauce over noodles and a glass of red wine rounded out the evening’s fare. It was hardly an extravagant meal, but to Logan it never ceased to surprise him how good one of Virgil’s meals made him feel. Warm, content, whole. Even after all these years, he never tired of it. 

Virgil slid into the seat next to him and took a well deserved sip of wine, all the while eyeing the notebook. Logan took up a fork and followed Virgil's sightline. _He’s not going to let it go,_ he thought. 

"It's really nothing, Virgil. I was merely trying to record…" Logan took a breath, trying to find the right words to convey his intentions without concerning his partner. "I'm trying to record our memories. Oral history is not a reliable source of information. It evolves and mutates with each retelling. Details get buried under the weight of time and can be lost for good. I just want to be certain our past doesn't fade away when I eventually… forget." 

"Lo."

"If I can put all this down on paper,” he pressed on, “ perhaps I can keep a hold on these moments all the longer. Do you understand?"

That wasn't so much a question as it was a quiet plea. Logan wanted so much for Virgil to understand. He tried to. Goodness knows he wanted to. 

Every night, sitting down to another tale of their lives, Virgil felt himself almost dreading the ritual just a touch more. Not because he didn’t enjoy reminiscing over days gone by. He just knew that each night marked one more day closer to something he couldn’t bring himself to accept. Sure, it was years down the line. For all he knew, his husband would live another twenty years. But facts were facts. Virgil feared the worst. Of course the doctors urged them to remain positive, but the writing was on the wall. They just couldn’t quite read it yet. Exactly what could be causing the memory loss is still unclear, but that doesn’t stop Virgil from preparing for news that Logan already seems to already have accepted.

Virgil shook his head, forcing the thought down with another swallow of wine, nearly downing the glass. The word lingered, etched behind eyelids. He tried to press it back in his mind, letting the quiet of their days lull him into some sense of comfort and normalcy. He hoped the nightly stroll through the past would let him exist in another time to distract him. But it was there. Ever present in his mind and the small ways it manifested itself in his husband. 

The sharp clang of his fork dropping to the plate jostled him from his thoughts. He didn’t realize his hands were shaking until he finally felt Logan’s strong, warm hands around his, gently drawing circles in Virgil’s palms with the pads of his thumbs.

“I’m sorry, gem. We shouldn’t talk about this over dinner. Nevermind any of that. What would dear old Patton say? Oh, come now, what was it…” Logan scrunched his nose with a cloying smile. “Ah yes. ‘Buck up, kiddo! Nothing good food can’t fix!’” He released Virgil’s hands and plucked a mushroom from his plate. Logan flicked the oily mushroom cap into the air with his thumb and positioned himself to catch it in his mouth. Smooth as silk.

Virgil sniffed and smiled. “Still got it, I see.”

“I never lost it.”

Logan sighed and plucked the notebook from the table, giving it a small waggle. “Think you can help me with this?”

“Damn it, Lo. You don’t plan on writing down everything, do you?” Virgil asked in mock protest.

“I can certainly try,” he responded defiantly.

Logan flipped through filled pages, eyes skimming over passing phrases before the pages turned blank. “I truly am enjoying this. If nothing else,” he paused slipping on a mischievous grin, “I get to think about you in those dashing suits of yours. You really were, as they say, a real looker.” 

Virgil quirked an eyebrow and downed the rest of his wine. “‘Were’? I’d hate to know what you think now. Also, those suits were atrocious.”

Logan let out a laugh and brushed a stray tuft of hair from Virgil’s eyes. “Now? More radiant than the stars in the sky.”

“What a line, my god!” Virgil exclaimed, rolling his eyes.

“Have I ever lied to you?”

“Plenty of times.”

“When?”

“Let’s just say you should expect a canister of salt for your next birthday. Season your own damn meals.”

That buttercup-colored kitchen was filled with the rich scent of herbs and the sound of comfortable laughter. The parties were grand, the garments outlandish. The past tantalizingly inviting.

What Logan understood was that there were indeed moments there and then worth remembering. 

********

_Spring 1925- The morning after the ball_

“Care to tell us where you scampered off to last night?” Roman asked over breakfast. Logan stopped short as he leaned down to clear the dishes from the table.

“Nowhere, sir. Just… getting some air. I assure you it won’t happen again.”

Roman dabbed his chin with a napkin and leaned his elbows indecorously on the table, humming knowingly to himself and meeting Remus’ playful gaze across the way. 

“Oh,” he began, under his breath, “we’ll see about that.”


	4. A Park, A Pond, and a Grocery List

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first chapter both Symph and I wrote together and I think it came together quite nicely!  
If you haven't already, please go check out the wonderful Symph on IG (@artssoon_symphony) and Wattpad (LaBassoon). 
> 
> CW: Implied homophobia, food mention

_Spring 1968_

“Are you certain you need all those layers, Lo?” Virgil asked, tugging at the rough wool sleeve of his sweater. Spring was quickly giving way to summer, but a slight chill still hung in the morning air. The sun was cutting a cloudless path across the sky, promising a warm day ahead.

Logan, standing firm on the front step of their quaint little home, looked down at his attire with a befuddled stare. The dark blue collar of his long sleeved button-down peeked out from the thick wool sweater. It wouldn’t be long before the heat of the day settled in and Virgil was rightfully concerned. Logan would willingly suffer a heat stroke before shedding any layers. Even after all these years, he insisted on remaining completed covered, particularly out in public. Logan was forever aware of the physical scars from his days in the steel factory and was less than enthused at the thought of uninvited glances and superficial sympathy. He had more than enough of that to last a lifetime.

Virgil wrapped his slender hand around his arm, urging him down the footpath to the street. Peach blossoms and magnolia trees sweetened the air and cotton from the dogwoods drifted lazily on the morning breeze. Thoughts of those damnable scars and the accident that caused them were distant, no more concerning than the trill of birdsong from the newly budding trees overhead. Quiet, calm, content. 

At least for the moment.

Saturday marked their weekly walk to the local market and Virgil was always keen to arrive as it opened to beat out the weekend crowds of leering housewives and their inane chatter. He could hear their poorly covered stage whispers from a mile away, commenting on sad old men arm in arm going about their day as if they were normal. Logan heard it too, but actively chose to pay it no mind. Who gives a damn about a gay man buying a loaf of bread and a jar of jelly. A man has to eat, regardless of the person with whom he shares his meals and his bed. 

Virgil simply didn’t have the wherewithal to ignore the prattle. So he simply avoided it at all costs.

The store owner finished unlocking the front door and looked up with a warm smile at his first customers of the day. Gerald Morello was a kindly gent of middle age with an agreeable temperament and a perpetual spring in his step. His crisp white uniform was matched only by the gleam of his smile. “Good morning, Virgil! I see you managed to get your other half out of the house on such a fine day. Nice to see ya out and about Logan.”

“Morning, Jerry,” Virgil responded with a two finger salute and a smirk. “What’s the special today?”

“Right to the point. Something I always liked about you. Brisket is half off. The spring crops are coming in in bushels. I’ll cut ya a deal you can’t refuse.” Gerald swung his arm wide, beckoning to two into his brightly lit market. “I’ll be around if ya need me. Go on and get your pick before the swarm arrives.” With that, he turned on his heel, whistling a cheery tune, leaving Virgil and Logan to decide where to start. Virgil slipped a folded list from his breast pocket and worked it open while Logan hooked the handles of a grocery basket over his left arm. 

Logan paced the aisle, eyeing the bright waxy surface of neatly stacked produce. He plucked a peach from the pile, brushing his thumb over the fine fuzz and lifting it to his nose. The scent was familiar and inviting. Images of Patton in his younger days, bustling around the kitchen in a frenzy, grabbed at his mind in snatches. He read somewhere years ago that smells could evoke memories of people and places long past. An intriguing notion with which he had to agree. 

Peaches for Patton, cinnamon-dusted apples for Master Roman, and rubbing alcohol for Master Remus. For Virgil…

Lavender.

Logan looked up from the peach in his hand to see Virgil ambling around displays, carefully evaluating the selection with the most discerning of eyes. A sudden faded image of a grassy park and cloudless sky flashed across his mind. His hand rested over his chest, feeling the stone pendant under the wool, as he willed himself to tug at the frayed edges of the quickly receding memory. 

A park, a pond, and a grocery list. 

His brow furrowed as his focus turned inward. _What were we doing? Where was this? Is this a real memory or just a dream-_

“Logan?!”

Logan’s vision refocused to find Virgil hastily walking towards him. “Lo, are you okay? What happened? You just sort of... stopped. People are staring.”

He looked about himself to see they were no longer alone. The market was quickly filling with early-morning shoppers, some of which lingered with mock concern over the absent-minded old geezer and his fretful partner. Logan turned his eyes back to Virgil and shook his head. “My apologies, Virgil. Something simply… snared my attention.”

“What?” Virgil asked, pulling Logan towards an unoccupied corner of the market gently by his left arm, careful not to press to hard. 

“I remembered a park. There was a pond. You were there. For some reason, I think I had a grocery list. At least, I think it was a grocery list. Yes, that sounds right.”

Virgil took the peach from Logan’s hand and placed it in the basket. “A park? And… a pond…” he considered, scratching at his temple. Then it clicked into place. His eyes flashed and a wide grin played across his lips. “Ah. I remember now. This was, oh, the second time we met. You were off to market and I was running away.”

“From what?”

“I believe you already asked me that once already…”

************************

_Spring 1925, Three Weeks After The Masquerade Ball_

Logan was starting to get fidgety. It seemed that every party he went to lacked a certain gothic noble at his side. It was absolute torture waiting for Virgil to show up, and when it was clear he wouldn’t Logan was trapped in a room of snooty aristocrats and the overwhelming volume of the music and drunken laughter. Every time he'd go outside to a balcony, hoping Virgil would climb on the ledge and join him. 

His heart fell whenever he wasn't able to find his friend. 

The twins noticed Logan's behavior after a bit of time: he was more tense, there was a downcast look in his eye. He just seemed to move a little slower. 

"Perhaps we should send him to the market?" Roman asked, making sure Logan was out of earshot. "Virgil goes there on Wednesdays to escape his house. Perhaps they'll run into each other there?" 

Remus shrugged. “Their meeting is highly unlikely, but if you’re that bored I suppose it is worth a shot.” Remus paused, absently thumbing the spine of the book in his hand before pausing suddenly. “How in blazes do you know that?” He questioned suspiciously.

Roman smirked at his reflection in the mirror of the drawing room, delicately working a stray hair into place. “I have my sources. And don’t act like you aren’t invested in this either!” Roman huffed. “You are just as interested in this situation as I am! Logan has never spoken to anyone willingly -- other than Patton -- and that’s because that busybody of a cook pried into his life for years!” 

“....It is intriguing.” Remus admitted, flipping through the novel. His thumb caught on of of the old dusty pages. “Damn, I cannot find this excerpt I need. Perhaps it is in Logan’s room....again. All that man does is clean and read books. For a tidy fellow, he still doesn’t know how to put books back.” 

“See? And if we send Logan off, you can look for the novel in his room.” 

“Ugh, fine. Time to send this little piggy to market”

That last remark was met with a sharp brotherly jab to Remus’ ribs.

\----

And so Logan found himself at a market in the heart of town. 

He asked if he could just go to a grocer closer to home, but Roman was insistent that he go to THIS ONE SINGULAR market in particular. He sighed, money given to him in one hand and a basket in the other. The list of things he had to recieve was rather absurd, and Logan knew for a fact that they already had most of the ingredients in the kitchen. Come to think of it, isn’t it always Patton who goes shopping? These were questions that weren’t going to be readily answered Logan decided. 

So now here he was in a giant crowd of people on a warm spring day wearing long sleeves and trousers. It was dreadfully hot, and the sun threatened to eat him alive, but he refused to show his mangled arm and the army of freckles that invaded his pale skin. He just...wasn’t ready for the attention. 

“Logan?” 

_Ah, attention._

Logan slowly turned his head to see the face of a familiar slender gentlemen walking towards him. Pale skin and sunken eyes hidden under his daringly long dark hair met his as he strode forward at a comfortable gait. A small smile formed on his face. “You eejit, I go to every bloody party in town wasting away my precious hours, and here you are at a damnedable market!” 

“Eejit?” Virgil asked. “And right back at you! Every party I’ve been to, a certain freckly fellow has not been in attendance!” Virgil held out his hand and added, “Eejit.” 

Logan shook his head and Virgil’s hand simultaneously. “I'm afraid you can’t use the phrase unless you’re Irish.” 

“Boo, what a bore,” Virgil pouted, brushing his bangs out of his face. “So, what brings you here?” 

"An amazingly long grocery list. How about you?" 

"Running from my responsibilities." 

Logan chuckled. "How is that going for you?" 

"Well, I ran into you along the way, so I'd say it's going pretty well!" Virgil looked around the crowd of busy people. "Say, it is quite loud here. Perhaps we should go somewhere quieter?" 

Logan shook his head. "I have groceries to attend to." 

"Just a quick walk. We can do your chores later!" Virgil insisted, a mischievous grin coating his lips. "Three weeks, Logan, three; you have kept me waiting for too long." 

"Oh alright," Logan sighed. "I request somewhere shady. It is dreadfully hot outside." 

Virgil nodded. "As you wish!" 

The two walked side by side, observing the changing scenery as they traveled. Busy roads buzzing with chattering people turned into long winding paths littered with trees and sunlight. Bugs stirred in the trees, caught by wondering critters. The air was somehow less humid, which Logan quietly appreciated. The two stopped at a pond and sat in the long marshy grass, taking in the view of the sunlit mass of water. It was finally quiet- quiet enough to think. 

"This is much better." Logan admitted, forgetting about his task at hand. "I can hear my own thoughts again." 

Virgil nodded. "Yes, I prefer it outdoors, out in nature. I don't like noise. I don't like crowds. I don't like people." 

“That’s quite a list of things you don’t like,” Logan stated, quirking an eyebrow. "It's a shame you must follow your family business then. You must have to deal with lots of noise, lots of crowds, and lots of people.”

"It's dreadful! And I'm absolutely terrible at speaking." 

"You are doing a wonderful job talking to me!" Logan laughed, which caused a smirk to play across Virgil’s lips. He was quite fond of that sound and he had a nagging feeling it doesn’t come around too often. 

"Well that is because you are charismatic. Everyone else is atrociously boring or judgmental." 

“Charismatic is the last word I’d use to describe myself,” Logan chuckled. “However, I think you’re quite charming in your own way.” He hesitated for a tick, fearing he perhaps overstepped a line. To speak so freely towards an important aristocrat’s son was in shockingly poor taste. Logan had never been known to be bold, but starting now would only land him, and his employers, in a mess of trouble they certainly didn’t need. 

The cacophonous sound of insects buzzing around them drove a wedge through the growing silence between them. Studying the grass at his feet, Logan could feel heat rise from his collar. His first real chance at a companion and he shot it straight to hell.

A clear, chime-like laughter broke through his spiraling thoughts. Whipping his head around, knocking his glasses askew in his curls, he found Virgil doubled over, clutching his stomach. Laughter poured sweetly from his typically dour mouth and for a moment his ghostly pallor warmed in the light of the early afternoon sun. 

“Gross,” Virgil teased. “You’re all sentimental and mushy.” He scrunched his nose and grimaced in mock disgust. 

“You were ‘gross’ first, you right tease!” Logan chided, quoting the word in the air around his face. Clearly his earlier social misstep hadn’t bothered Virgil in the slightest. In fact, he seemed to enjoy the playful ribbing. There was something easy about his new-found friend. _Friend._ Logan liked the sound of that. He found himself testing the word in his mind. Though he wouldn’t dare presume out loud, something about this anti-socialite suited him. This was simple. Comfortable. And oh so easy.

Virgil’s laughter petered out and his eyes drifted out past the water.  
Logan straightened his glasses and followed Virgil’s distant gaze, scanning the pond’s surface. Pulling his knees to his chest, he let the cool breeze drifting from the water and the smell of spring blossoms quiet him. He had never really had a conversation with another person his age and he wondered if he was supposed to do something next. Letting the conversation lull seemed like a sure-fire way to bore Virgil into leaving.

He shifted uncomfortably, not realizing he had been leaning his weight into his bad arm for some time. Searching his mind for an engaging topic and coming up blank, he threw out this instead: “I’m afraid I don’t have cheese to distract from my horrible conversational skills today.” 

“I’m afraid I don’t have wine to get me all loose, so I am lacking in the people department as well.” Virgil added, lounging back on his forearms, looking up towards the sky. Logan continued to stare out, watching a flock of birds wind their way around the trees across the way. Virgil slid his leg out, tapping the toe of his scuffed loafers into Logan’s knee, jostling him to attention.

“Och aye!” 

“Och aye,” Virgil teased with a childish lilt. 

Logan shook his head. “I told you to not do that.” Logan went to elbow Virgil, but was that appropriate? He didn’t know and decided against it. He had already toed the line of proper etiquette one too many times in one sitting. “Anyway, how is your running treating you?”

“Good,”

“What are you even running from?” 

“...Noise.” Virgil admitted. “As I said before, people and noises make me...jumpy. People always scold me for my standoffish behavior. I am often likened to a cat.” Virgil smiled, a hint of sarcasm in his expression. “Have no fears, per say, but I have been called just about every name in the book; sissy, weak, and unfit to be the family heir!”

Logan frowned. “That’s horrible, and all because you don’t like noise?”

“Yes,” Virgil grinned again. “I suppose it makes sense. Does this look like the next head of a prominent industrial business?” He paused and eyed Logan with a smirk thinly veiled in something almost lonesome. “I’ll admit, I expected some teasing from you as well.” 

“Why? It sounds like you have a rough go of it ...”

Virgil laid back in the grass, looking at the sun peaking through the leaves. “And that response is why I like you.”

Logan laid next to him. Two monarch butterflies flitted overhead, and a tiny toad made its way to the pond, stopping briefly at their feet before leaping into the reeds lining the shore. A school of tiny silver minos wiggled and darted their way through the pond, evading the larger fish who approached them from behind the rocks. A picture-perfect afternoon.

The silence was nice, but Logan would do anything for a little more conversation. Boy, his conversational skills were absolutely atrocious. He racked his brain for anything interesting to say. 

“Did you know butterfly can taste with their feet?” Logan settled on, watching the two orange winged critters flap in circles above their heads. A thousand books at his fingertips and a million interesting facts about the world and he lands on _that_? 

Virgil laughed lightly. “No! Can you imagine if humans tasted food like that; you’d have to put your feet in your meal before you tried it!” 

“And you’d always taste your shoes.” Logan added. “That would be repulsive.” 

Virgil sat up again, brushing the stray grass from his hair. “Now that I think about it, you wore a butterfly mask at the masquerade!” Virgil exclaimed. “What was the meaning behind it?” 

“I wanted to fly away from there.” Logan sighed. “No, but really, Masters Remus and Roman made me wear it.” 

“Ah, I just thought you liked the taste of feet.”

Logan chuckled and rolled his eyes. “Was there a meaning behind the cat?” 

“The cat is one of the most underrated animals. They hunt and still find time to take naps in the sun. They know what they want and what they don’t want, and they certainly don’t take any bullshit from people.” Virgil jokingly hissed at Logan after he spoke. 

“Hey! I didn’t do anything!” Logan cried, waving his hands. 

“Now what are you doing!?”

“Clearly I am flying away, you wiley cat!” Logan rolled to his knees, moving to take flight.

The two giggled like children. Simple, comfortable, easy.

“I wish you’d come back.” Virgil whined. “You’re so far away up in the clouds.”

Logan flapped his hands again. “I have returned. Though I wish this cat would stop it’s terrible hissing.”

“Good,” Virgil stated, patting the shady spot of grass next to him. “Though I can’t make any promises.” He grinned and bared his teeth with feline ferocity before falling into another fit of giggles. 

Logan took his place and flopped back into the grass, taking in the dewy scent. The silence settled, with the occasional chuckle from one or the other. They were left with the whistling sound of the wind, and the scuttles of tiny animals scratching against tree bark. The sun marched across the sky and the shade of the tree they had been using as their refuge from the heat almost entirely moved away from them. Time was forging ahead without them and that suited the pair perfectly fine...

Suddenly Logan yelped, stumbling to his feet. “The groceries!” 

Virgil jumped at the noise before darting up to standing. “Shit! How long do you think you have!?”

Logan looked at the setting sun. “At this rate, not long!” 

The two hustled back to the market, babbling and fretting over the unreasonably long list in Logan’s hand. “You know what you’ll need! Let’s split up and meet back here with all the items!” he announced, snatching the list from Logan’s hand. 

“Right!”

He watched as Virgil tore off into the market and turned swiftly on his heel to gather what he needed.

\---

Remus looked unamused as Logan entered the manor drenched in sweat, hair a mess, and huffing with a basket of goods. The mustached master of the house eyed him curiously from an overstuffed leather armchair. “What took you so long?” 

“I...got lost?” Logan wheezed, unable to think of a better lie. Every ounce of energy was spent on making it back before sundown with little capacity left to cover his tracks. 

“Hmm,” Remus flipping through a novel. “That sounds... inconvenient.” 

Logan nodded and started to go to Patton. 

“Wait.” 

Logan slowly turned around. _Blast, he knows. He knows. HE KNOWS! You bloody eejit!_

“Start putting books back after you read them. Properly.” 

“Yes Sir!” Logan nodded as he spoke and made haste to the kitchen.


	5. Out of the Fire- Pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Invited guests never bode well for Logan. The cracks in his professional facade are beginning to widen when he is pushed beyond his limit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two dinners, two time periods. So much angst. This is part 1 of a two part chapter.  
As always, this was co-written by myself and artssoon_symphony. The title will make more sense soon >:)
> 
> TW: Food mentions, alcohol and drunkenness mention, mild foul language, implied old injury

_Summer 1968_

Logan didn’t oppose to guests. They were a welcome distraction from the monotony of the everyday. He could only devise so many criteria with which to organize his collection of books. However, he was beginning to find the company of others rather exhausting. Not in the sense that he did not appreciate their time and attention. It was simply that the moment someone entered his home, he would feel obligated to attend to their needs with the utmost care and consideration. No one ever taught him how to be a gracious host.

A small, lingering instinct in the back of his mind nagged at him with proper serving etiquette and table settings. A butler was to be seen, not heard and to do their job with minimal intrusion. In his youth, guests entering the home meant an unending assembly line of necessities to make their stay luxuriant and utterly without stress. Though the hosts took the credit, the staff ran the show. 

And that was his lot in life for many years. Serving under the inexhaustible twin masters meant always being primed and ready for a business partner or dear old university chum to drop by on a moment’s notice. He never complained. Despite his limited physical capabilities, he did his job to the utmost of his abilities, even at the cost of his own comfort. 

Even in his later years, he never quite understood the concept of rest.

This evening was no different. He stared down at the dining room table, shifting a single salad fork a millimeter or two on the woven navy blue place mat. He just couldn’t find the precise setting for the damned thing, even though he knew full well that no one would notice and it was all inevitably end up in the sink at the end of the night. He shook his head and took a step back, scanning the finished table. Three simple settings on a small round oak table all surrounding a thin crystal vase with tall dried sprigs of lavender. 

A touch of a smile settled on his lips at the sight of the dusty purple arrangement. The bushel had caught Logan’s eye the previous weekend as they passed a floral shop during a morning leisurely stroll through the neighborhood. They were a favorite of Virgil’s and goodness knows seeing that little smile of his was worth the trip inside and the sorry attempts to hide it under his jacket so as to not spoil the surprise. In addition to cooking, Logan was not an expert at romantic gestures, but that didn’t stop him from trying, if only to see that smile.

“Looks nice, Lo,” Virgil said, placing a hand on Logan’s shoulder. He leaned in and sniffed at the lavender. Even dried it smelled lovely. Logan shrugged and pulled out a chair. He rubbed at his right arm as he sat. 

“I’m not entirely sure why we have to have him over in the first place,” Logan stated dryly. 

Virgil took the next chair over and slumped over, resting his elbows on his knees. “Because he’s family. I know you never took to him, but I don’t have a lot of choice in the matter. Besides, he’s not as... slippery at his age.”

“He’s a liar and a coward. He still doesn’t give his proper name when he introduces himself. He is a snake in the grass through and through.” Logan could feel the anger rise in his throat. His contempt for D Anx was no secret. A cheat at cards and a sly businessman in his prime, he was a charming cad that rubbed Logan the wrong way. The fact that he was Virgil’s cousin meant he was a regular fixture in his life, for better or for worse. 

Virgil placed an assuring hand on Logan’s knee and sighed, not entirely disagreeing with his character assessment. But besides his husband, D was the only family he had left and he felt a certain kinship towards the man. Though the outcome was wildly different, they shared one very life important experience. Virgil knew as a young man struggling to come into his own and to understand the complicated facets of his identity and social standing he could confide in D. The man was a snake, certainly, but he was family.

The timer in the kitchen went off and Virgil quickly made his way to the stove. “Take these sweet potatoes to the table, please,” he shouted from the kitchen. Logan hoisted himself to standing and took the piping hot dish in his hands, careful not to let the hot pad slip out of place under his fingers. He placed the dish on the table and straightened, listening to the sounds of Virgil’s careful maneuvers around their small kitchen. “Lo, why don’t you go sit and rest before he arrives?”

“I’d rather assist you,” Logan responded moving carefully behind Virgil as he sawed at a loaf of bread under his steady grasp. Virgil shook his head. “You’ve done enough for now. You need to learn to relax, Logan.”

For some reason that got a short, deep laugh out of Logan. He had heard that before- many times in fact- and usually from the same person. He rubbed at his arm again, tugging at the edges of an old memory. A lavish dinner party prepared by a frantic cook. Dashing masters playing host in their smart linen summer suits and enterprise at the forefront of their minds-

The doorbell rang.

***********

_Summer 1925_

“Do you need assistance?” Logan asked, watching at Patton frantically scramble from dish to dish: seasoning, stirring, chopping, arranging. The shorter man was working up a sweat, grease and smells catching in his beard, cheeks red with from the heat and intense focus. “I’m not the best cook, but I can at least slice things….” Logan added, well aware that he did not have a good history in the kitchen. 

“Naw, you gotta be gettin’ the house ready and waitin’ on those fancy folk, but thanks an’way pumpkin.” Patton sighed. “These boys want these real fancy meals, but it's so much to do for one person!” he continued, chopping carrots at the speed of light. “If only I had an assistant to handle the prep, but then again I don’t exactly like workin’ with others in the kitchen. Agh, now why can’t these folks have a pallet like yours Logan? You’ll eat whatever I make with no complaints!” Logan chuckled as Patton passed him a tray of silverware and glasses. “Here, take these to the table please, sugar.” 

Logan nodded, balancing the load on his left arm and steadying it with his right. He was preparing himself for shut off mode: rid himself of emotions, clear his head, get ready for an absurd amount of unless orders just for the sake of a fat cat’s happiness. 

A deep sigh sounded as he set the table; he never understood why rich people always needed so many different types of eating utensils. “Forks to the left, knives and spoons to the right, plate in the middle, water glass top right, red wine glass to the right of that….” he mumbled as he gingerly prepared each place setting. He often loathed how unnecessarily complicated formal table settings had to be knowing full well it would all end up in the wash. He had been teased in the past for forgetting, but knew full well the gentle ribbing was laced with warning; What would the guests think? It was simply unprofessional! He couldn’t commit another such foible in the future!  
“What the hell is the order of use again…?” He pressed his hair out of his eyes, attempting to focus and losing the battle. “This is a load of hogwash….” After a bit of fumbling and miniature adjustments he sighed and simply decided on an order. It would have to do. 

As if on cue, Remus entered the room with Roman trailing a half step behind, surveying the spread. “It looks nice, Logan.” Roman complimented, stroking his chin with dramatic flair. “And you even remembered the order of the silverware this time. Color me impressed!” Remus added, nudging Logan with his elbow. 

Remus circled the table, eyeing each detail with a sly smirk on his face. Finely penned place cards on cream-colored stationary with delicately winding gold and green vines sat on each plate, each with the name of a guest. Ten in total… and entirely men. That meant there would be plenty of boozing and ceaseless talk of business. Logan was in for a long night. 

From the corner of his eye he caught Roman pulling a new place card from his breast pocket and swapping it with another. Remus leaned over and plucked it from its plate and turned it in his fingers with a comical frown.

“Now, _this_ is a name I wasn’t expecting to see” he said, turning to hand it back to Roman. 

Roman shrugged and returned it to the plate. “You did let me handle the guest list for once. Thought it would make tonight _interesting_, dear brother mine. After all”, Roman’s eyes shifted to Logan adjusting the centerpiece, “their family has what we need. Though… I am a bit surprised that this family’s patriarch would send his nephew instead of making an appearance himself. I guess _he_ needed a proper chaperone. It would be in poor form to send his _son_ into the lion’s den unaccompanied”

Logan lifted his head at the inflection to see Roman barely containing his grin. Remus took one final step around the table and placed himself next to his brother with a knowing smile, twisting his mustache in the cartoonist way that bothered Roman to no end. So many things bothered him about his brother if he were being perfectly honest, as Roman did to Remus, but tonight they formed a united front, standing side by side.

The two twins wore identical suits with the exception of differing colored ties. They looked polished to perfection, spiffy, and young. Up and coming names in the automotive industry and passionate about maintaining their social standing, they were beginning to make waves around town. Not much was known about the twins and their family by the outside world and many clamored to get a peek behind the curtain of these handsome young elites. Inheriting a family fortune and a successful business was enough to put them on the map, but nothing but rumors and conjectures floated across the social scene. All they knew was that they were charming, handsome, and dizzyingly wealthy, or so it seemed from how they carried themselves. 

What was not commonly known was that Roman was the one that took over a large bulk of the operations while his brother Remus pursued a medical degree. Though a quietly successful doctor and surgeon in his own right, Remus spends much of his time hovering over Roman’s shoulder, making often unwelcome suggestions and traipsing about the manor with his nose in a book and idle hands ready to make a little mischief. While the twins rarely saw eye to eye, bickering like children in the schoolyard, there were two activities they could enjoy in each other’s company- parties and doting on their ever-aggravated valet, Logan.

Logan straightened and took a step back from the floral arrangement at the center of the table, eyeing a summer blossom out of place. Leaning in to adjust it, he could feel the twins’ eyes on him. Separately, they were almost reasonably tolerable. Together? There’s no knowing what trouble they were planning for him, for better or for worse. There was clearly a motive behind this party and he just couldn’t put his finger on it.

“We haven’t hosted a dinner party in awhile.” Logan said slowly, trying to open up a conversation as to why they were having this particular event. Logan hated hosting parties more than going to them himself. The dinner parties were especially the worst. He felt on display and wanted nothing more than to recede into a book. “What is the occasion?” 

“We need supplies,” Roman began. 

“For cheap,” Remus added. 

Something wasn’t adding up. Was rubbing shoulders really necessary to close a deal? Illogical.

“So you waste the money on a dinner party?” was what Logan was going to say, but instead said, “Ah, I see.” He bowed his head and quickly retreated back to the kitchen to find Patton scurrying from pot to pot. “Do you need any more help?” Logan asked. 

Patton shoved a quickly put together meal for him without missing a beat. Piping hot rice and carrots and a bit of gravy. “No, but eat up or you’ll forget to later. Lord knows you’ll be on your feet until goodness knows when.” 

Logan nodded, scarfing down the meal as fast as he could on his feet before cleaning the utensils and putting them in their respective drawers. He was careful to stay out of Patton’s way. “Are you positive you don’t require assistance?” 

“Logan, go _sit down!_ Lord above!” Patton cried. “Learn to relax. You have a long night ahead of yourself! We don’t want to overwork that arm, now do we?” 

Logan instinctively rubbed his right arm. Even through the layers of clothing he could still feel the rough surface from the scarring and burns from that night. 

That night. 

Logan shook his head, ridding himself of the memory quickly rising to the surface. “Y-You are completely right…. I just....” Logan sighed. “This thing is so bloody useless! The second people see it doesn’t work properly they laugh!” he fumed, allowing his anger to show before the party. Patton was the only person who had ever seen him mad. “These pompous assholes think they can walk all over me.” 

“That’s because you let them, Logan.” Patton sighed. “I’m not blaming you though, it’s just part of the job, I guess. The important thing, sugar, is that you don’t let their remarks get to you.” Logan kept his contempt for the upper crust buttoned up tight, but around Patton he could hardly contain his ire. The chef smiled patiently, exhaustion covering his jolly, rosy face. “I don’t disagree with you, hon. Hey, if you get through tonight, there’ll be some jam n’ grits for you first thing in the mornin’!” 

Logan smiled. “You know me well.” 

Patton went to ruffle Logan’s hair like old times, but thought better of it. Not only was Logan taller, but he was positive Logan didn’t want food in his hair and hair in his food. Roman had spent a solid hour taming his natural curls into something resembling a shiny helmet of pomade, and goodness knows what trouble would befall him if Roman caught sight of his handiwork ruined. “Go sit down.” Patton repeated sternly. “Your ol’ Pat has got the food covered!” 

Logan nodded restlessly, turning on his heel to check the clock. He had an hour before the guests arrived, perhaps more if they chose to be fashionably late. He returned to his preferred nook in the library to get in a spot of reading before having to deal with the buzzing army of rich snobs priming to overtake his home. 

Logan settled into a brown upholstered armchair, careful not to crease his uniform. He picked up a book clearly left from earlier in the day and gently worked out the old worn bookmark. He was currently in the middle of reading _The Picture of Dorian Gray_. The novel was interesting to say the least, though Logan found the interactions to be a bit boring and dreadfully tedious, and it was blatantly clear that Basil fancied Mr. Dorian as more than just friends. 

Speaking of men, was it normal to find attraction in your fellow man? To feel something more than platonic companionship. Is that was this was? He had certainly taken a liking to-- Logan shook his head. He didn’t want to think about that, he just wanted to read. It wasn’t that he was uncomfortable with his… interest, he just simply did not have the time for a relationship of any sort! What good would companionship do him if he had no time to properly cultivate it? Having a friend was all fine and good, but to seek anything more could be-

His reading was interrupted by a small tap on the door. Logan slipped the bookmark back into place and set the novel on the armrest. Standing with a sigh, he opened respectfully, expecting just about anyone else. “Hey, Roman and Remus told me--” Virgil froze when he realized he was face to face with Logan. Well, not face to face- Logan was just about a full head taller- but the image is still the same. “Oh! Hello, Logan.” Virgil chirped. "What the hell did Roman and Remus put in your hair? It isn't curly in the slightest anymore!"

"I am not sure, but it did take a long time to fix."

"Roman and Remus have poor taste. I _like_ your curls." A smirk found it's way to Virgil's pale face.

Logan opened the door wider, ushering the young man in all while wondering if his musings hadn’t conjured him out of thin air. _Don’t be foolish_, he thought, _merely coincidence_. Though Virgil’s sudden appearance at the door of the very room he occupied in such a large estate did puzzle him greatly.

“May I ask what you were doing roaming the halls?” Logan asked as they settled into two wooden desk chairs under the red-curtained window. Virgil leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and chin on his interlaced fingers. 

Virgil lolled his head back and forth over his fingers, letting his dark hair fall over his eyes. “Our gracious hosts tried to point me to the restroom. You have so many damn rooms in this place, I got lost.”

“So you came to the library?”

“_I_ didn’t know it was the library! I was just trying to find someone to give me some directions. There was a door so I knocked. What more do you want from me?!”

Logan sat back a touch, careful not to wrinkle his clothes. He hadn’t realized how long he had been sitting up so straight until he finally relaxed his shoulders into the backrest. He figured this would be his last chance to socialize with his companion until this night was over. Unlike a party where schmoozing was mandatory, a formal dinner was another matter. He was the help and the help was to be seen but not heard and entirely unobtrusive.

“Come on, Logan. Where’s that odd encyclopedic brain wandering off to. You got awful quiet there for a second.” Virgil eyed Logan curiously. It was clear this black sheep aristocrat could read his face like a book. 

Logan sat up a fraction. “Oh nothing. Just thinking about a book I was reading before I was so rudely interrupted.” Something of a playful smirk flitted across his face. 

Virgil lifted his chin from his hands, studying the man in front of him. “Did you- Did you just call me rude?! I didn’t think you had it in you! Nicely done!”

The two fell into a comfortable laughter, forgetting entirely the point of Virgil’s visit this evening. They chatted for a bit, mainly about trivial matters. It was pleasant and seemingly going well. 

Then, Logan’s face burned as the reality slowly hit him. Had it really not dawned on him why he was here? 

He would be serving Virgil. _Serving_. Because, of course, that’s how this would go. 

“So,” he began, treading over his words carefully, “you were invited to this gathering?” Sure, there were name cards at each place setting, but he didn’t get a long look at them. And he vaguely remembered seeing Roman pull a new one from his pocket earlier. Logan was fully aware of Virgil's distaste for his masters. Frankly, Roman and Remus did not care for his family in return, though he hardly understood why. "I mean no offense, but you are the last person I'd expect to be here." 

“Yes, I was invited and I came. Is that a problem?” 

“I thought Roman and Remus were not highly regarded by your family. And you didn’t seem all too fond of them either.” 

Virgil shrugged. “I like their butler.” 

Logan’s lungs felt like ice. This was the very thing he had hoped to avoid. His left hand travelled to his right arm, hovering over the black jacket sleeve. “Virgil, I--” He breathed, trying to take control of his own worries. He had to deflect. Virgil didn’t need to know about his shortcomings. It would surely disgust him. “I’m not at my best when I’m serving. I have many responsibilities. I’m afraid there will be absolutely no time for conversation between us.” 

“None at all?” 

Logan sighed and shook his head, already picturing the tasks he had to perform, and the tasks that the nobles made him perform at his expense. He was nothing more than a tool and tools were to be useful.

“Well, I’m sure we’ll get to talk later.” Virgil smiled. “Don’t drop my food on me please,” Virgil teased before starting to walk towards the door. 

“Virgil, please don’t...judge me.” 

Virgil froze and gave Logan an incredulous look. “I won’t? God, you’re weird, butterfly.” 

“Butterfly?” Logan asked. 

Virgil bit at his lip and pulled at a loose thread on his fine slate-colored dinner jacket. “I don’t know where that came from, sorry.” 

“It’s alright, kitty cat.” Logan teased. 

“No! I hate it! That name will never stick.” Virgil whined, earning a chuckle from Logan. “Just go do your job. By the sounds of it, people are already here!” 

“Bloody hell--!” Logan exclaimed, rushing out of the room at breakneck speed. Virgil stood and slowly trailed behind, watching Logan hurtle off around a corner to perform his meaningless tasks. Something unnamed nagged at the back of his mind. A silent alarm began to sound in his skull. Something was wrong. Something important.


	6. And Into the Frying Pan- PT. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The evening takes a drastic turn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Dinner Party Pt 2! This is a LONG chapter- we just couldn't restrain ourselves.  
Symph and I are pretty darned proud of this chapter. The twins will be getting a bit of a redemption soon, but not today. As always, check out my co-author Symph on IG @artssoon_symphony and Wattpad @LaBassoon.  
Enjoy!
> 
> TW: Food and alcohol mention, drunkenness (drunken Roman and Remus), mild swearing, racist/classist comments, panic/anxiety, pain and injury descriptions.

_Summer 1968- Continued_

The silence around the table was filled only by the sound of cutlery scraping over plates. Logan focused intently on the almond and asparagus in front of him, cutting and recutting each spear into increasingly smaller portions. With every pass of D’s knife over his plate and his insufferably loud chewing, which Virgil would later argue was not that loud, Logan forced the knife down over the innocent greens that much harder. 

“So…” D started carefully, “Anything new and exciting around these parts?”

“No.” Logan hadn’t even looked up from his plate. His response was cold and final, begging no further response. He could hear Virgil shift slightly in his seat, tapping his foot into the carpet.

“Well, that’s a right shame,” D said, soldiering on unperturbed by Logan’s icy reply. He was no fool and it certainly didn’t take an expert to see Logan still loathed his very existence years later, though he had enough self-control to keep his contempt below the surface. This, though, did not stop the older man from poking the bear for his own amusement. D quite liked Logan even if his feelings were never returned.

Even in his later years, D had an enigmatic charm about him and it was blatantly clear that in his prime he was quite the dashing looker. Not even a prominent mottled birthmark over much of his left eye and cheek deterred anyone from falling into his oddly entrancing gaze. Add a sly, mischievous smile and a smooth baritone voice draped in finely tailored suits of the latest fashion and topped with custom-milled hats and it was nearly impossible to keep one’s distance. 

Sitting comfortably in Virgil and Logan’s home over a quaint Sunday dinner, the darkly handsome smooth-talking cobra of the roaring-20’s social scene was replaced with a rather tame old man in a crisp cotton button-down and a loose-fitting mustard sweater he kept draped over his shoulders.

D shrugged, taking in a hartey swig of the red wine he brought as a peace offering. “Well, I for one have been keeping plenty busy.”

“Oh?” Virgil loved his cousin, but was perpetually concerned whenever the topic of work came about. Logan had been more or less forced into retirement when the demands of his long-time job became too demanding for his body and mind. Any talk of D’s work only drove a wider distance between them. “Still managing the family company then? I thought you were finally stepping down. Hate to say it, D, but you’re old as dirt.”

“What’s that I hear?” he asked with dramatic flair, holding his hand to his ear, “The pot calling the kettle black?” 

“Compared to you I’m as fresh as spring daisy,” Virgil returned in mock annoyance. 

“Oh, you’re about as fresh as those dried up flowers on the table, dear cousin.” 

The familial chuckling was cut short by Logan’s sudden rise to his feet. “Lo? Everything alright?” Virgil asked, minutely rattled by his husband’s reaction.

“I’m quite fine, gem. I’ll get us more wine.”

Logan stepping briskly into the kitchen, feeling two sets of eyes on his back as he left the room. He planted his hands firmly on the cool kitchen counter, regaining control over his boiling nerves. Even after forty-some years, that man found every way possible to worm his way under Logan’s skin. For Virgil’s sake, he would be cordial. 

He took a steadying breath, working to compose himself. At times like this, he would willingly allow his old training to kick in, turning down the dial on his fiery temper to near zero. He would get through this dinner with no further incident. 

_For Virgil._

Logan grasped the bottle of wine in his right hand, feeling his bad arm shake under the pressure of working the cork open and keeping the bottle steady. He closed his eyes and recalled Virgil’s voice from the night of that god forsaken party. Oddly soothing in his ear despite his frayed nerves at seeing Logan go down with a tray of glasses. Breathe. Breathe, please. Breathe with me.

Logan could feel the ghost of a smile pass his lips. Through every trial and tribulation they endured over their many years together, even in the face of Virgil’s own anxieties, he was always Logan’s foundation, keeping him firmly grounded on his feet. And he would spend every day of his life supporting Virgil in any way he possibly could. 

Logan took one more deep breath, cooling his heels in the kitchen a moment more before returning to dinner. With the uncorked bottle in hand, he made his way back to the cozy dining room only to be stopped in his tracks at the sound of a name.

“How is dear Patton these days?” D’s voice was light and easy as if the question were only a passing thought.

“Oh fine. Still fussing about in that kitchen of his. They’ll have to cart him out feet first before he ever leaves of his own free will,” Virgil responded with an uncomfortable chuckle.

“Where on God’s green earth is he these days, anyway?”

“Down in Louisiana. Jackson Parish. We visited him just last month.”

A pause.

“And…he’s doing well?”

“Well eno-” Virgil’s response was cut short by the loud thump of the wine bottle meeting the table, Logan’s white-knuckled fingers still wrapped around the base.

“You’d do well not to speak of him so lightly, D,” Logan growled. D looked at him with a knowing smirk. Now he’s really done it. Down the decades, Logan could never bring himself to forgive that man for what he did to the man who essentially raised him. Patton was more than just the estate chef. He was a father figure- a man so resolute in his love for Logan, always doggedly determined to care for him every opportunity he could. And he cared for Patton deeply in return. 

While the years softened Patton’s pain, Logan would not so easily forgive D’s cowardice and selfishness. 

Logan straightened his spine, reeling at the sudden rush of anger and memories. “If you will excuse me.” He turned and strode with purpose to his study so he could officially close the door on this night.

Virgil watched Logan leave, absolutely flabbergasted at his sudden outburst. He knew Patton was a delicate subject and he would scold D for toeing the line with Logan. He opened his mouth with a reprimand readied on the tip of his tongue when the words fell short at D’s sunken face.  
“I… I’m sorry. Truly. I may have been kidding around before, but it was never my intention to upset him. Good to see he still has some of that Irish fire in him.”

Virgil deflated, sinking back into his chair. “You’re an idiot, D.”

“Yeah. I’m fully aware.”

D watched Virgil’s features soften, exhaustion and sadness settling in his eyes. “He’s not well, then, eh?” he ventured carefully.

Virgil eyed his lukewarm dinner. D almost missed the nearly imperceptible shake of his head. Pushing back from his chair, D moved to Virgil’s side, placing a brotherly hand on his slender shoulder. 

“Go check on him. I’ll keep the wine company.”

Virgil let out the smallest breath of a laugh and stood, locking eyes with D before stepping silently to the firmly shut door of Logan’s study.

\---  
_Spring 1925, Continued_

The twins’ estate was looking rather resplendent that evening, the walls of the main dining hall draped in rich textiles of reds and gold. While Remus preferred the sleek nevue style popular with the deep-pocketed these days, Roman had a flair for the vintage, opting for more decadent decor. After all, Remus lamented his bustling schedule of house calls for his ever increasing list of high-bred patients, leaving Roman to tend to the details. Given his way, the interior would make any guest feel they have stepped right into the pages of a fairytale. For a keen-minded businessman, he had a taste for whimsy his brother could barely stomach. 

But tonight was all about business. Roman could plan the most divine of dinners, but there was a bottom line to be met. These men were invited to their home for a reason and with enough fine wine and creative proposals, he could secure supplier partnerships that would, in turn, secure their future. 

Roman watched proudly as his charismatic brother greeted guests as they offloaded their hats and gilded walking sticks on an unassuming valet. Upon closer inspection, it was clearly not Logan. “Now, where is that little ginger of ours,” Roman muttered under his breath. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a figure careen around a ballister. He observed silently as a flustered Logan brushed the non-existent wrinkles from his uniform, lightly pat back his hair, and square his shoulders. 

Logan strode up confidently to the fellow valet and took the bundle of outerwear in his arms with a slight apologetic look. The other valet bowed his head gratefully and scurried off into the back of the house towards the kitchen. 

Roman followed a few paces behind Logan as he stepped quietly to the coatroom. Leaning nonchalantly against the doorframe with arms crossed he cleared his throat.Logan’s shoulders twitched at the sound, focusing his efforts on keeping his expression even and the pile of hats balanced as he primed to shelve them for the evening.

“Running a little late, are we, dear boy?”

Logan slid a black satin hat onto the shelf and turned to face his employer. “M-my apologies, sir,” Logan toned evenly, straightening to his full height. “I was… giving Virgil directions to the restroom.”

“Virgil?” Quirking an eyebrow, the master of the house couldn’t help but be amused at Logan’s sudden familiarity. In any other instance, he would have gently reminded him to use proper titles when addressing superiors, but this was a good sign, indeed. Roman’s little experiment was coming along nicely.

“_Master_ Virgil,” the valet corrected.

Roman rubbed at his chin, covering his growing smile with his palm. “Is that all then? I don’t see a problem with that, I suppose,” he said casually, righting his mouth into a straight line. “I need not remind you that this is an important dinner. I need you at your best, dear boy.”

Logan straightened, awaiting additional instruction. Roman knew full well Logan’s distaste for these events and could see the discomfort begin to well up by the looks of his rigid stance. He strode up lazily and planted a familial hand on Logan’s shoulder. He could feel the tension in muscles, wound tight under his black jacket. Sighing, he let his features soften a touch. “Relax, Logan, before you strain a muscle. Tonight will go off without a hitch.”

Roman winked and ushered Logan back into the hall, watching him hurry to his station to prepare for the dinner service. Resting his shoulder into the doorframe again, he couldn’t help but smile.

“This will most certainly be an interesting night.”

\---

The evening started out exactly as one would expect and largely without issue. The guests, power-house men of industry, ambled about the parlour, carrying on conversations meant to size up the competition. The posturing and self-importance was utterly baffling to Logan, but not nearly as much as the gin swilling and the suffocating cigar smoke. How anyone could breathe was a mystery. 

A string quartet quietly played in the background, filling the smokey air with a touch of elegance. This was not your stock and standard rousing social event; it was a night dedicated to class and sophistication. Though the twins were notorious around the late-night party scene, they were smart enough to cater to the crowd. Tonight they preened and primped, carrying themselves like the elite they were, despite their youthful status. 

Logan dodged suit-clad men in the haze, balancing a tray of empty tumblers. He could feel Virgil’s hawk-like gaze on him as he traversed the room. It made him nervous, to say the least. The only thing worse than serving a dinner party was avoiding conversation with a friend as well. 

_Friend…? Acquaintance?_ Logan was still unaware of their status. 

Virgil had taken refuge at a window seat while his dashing cousin did the talking. Virgil and D were an unlikely pair and side by side hardly seemed to be of the same family tree. D was considerably taller, lithe and graceful, with a sharp quality about him. His finely tailored suit, near black with striking cadmium accents at the cuff and collar, cut his figure into imposing angles that could kill a man. If it weren’t for his warm smile, one might almost assume he had. 

Virgil seemed more than content to let his older cousin do the heavy lifting; his father would never trust him with the important business interactions anyway. The lack of responsibility for the evening left him to follow Logan with his eyes as he carefully flitted about the room like a dark butterfly caught in a storm. Every flinch and millisecond of pain the man allowed to show before internalizing the emotion set a pit in Virgil’s stomach. All he could do was gingerly sip his water, knowing that if he wasn’t a coward he could get up and help Logan, destroying the entire system of classism with one kind gesture. 

Logan could feel beads of sweat prick at his brow. Soon enough the dinner bell would ring and they would be seated in the main hall for supper. That would be his real test of endurance. 

Thus far, there were only a few snide remarks spat as Logan passed by loose-lipped guests, primarily towards his heritage. “Can you really trust an Irish boy?” he had heard as he slipped by with a laden tray. Roman and Remus were quick to come to his defense, speaking to his “remarkable loyalty and patience for our many whims”.

He stifled a laugh. That’s an understatement if he ever heard one. Logan wasn’t just patient, he was practically a saint for dealing with all the tasks the twins put him through. He was thankful however, after all they had done for him. At risk of sounding dramatic, they saved his life.

Dinner was called and the guests were ushered into the adjoining dining hall. Logan stood by, primed with the first course balanced on his left palm. And that’s where his troubles really began. He was not inherently left-handed, but his right arm could barely handle the weight of a single tray for a short distance without being reduced to uncomfortable twinges and spasms. This meant that if he wasn’t careful, he could bump into a fellow server, causing a spill or worse. However, for the sake of uniformity, he would do his best and carry with his right arm just like the rest. He couldn’t risk getting called out even more during the evening. 

He stepped to the right of Virgil, who sat stalk-still. How either of them were supposed to act in this instance was beyond them. He gently lifted the shallow dish of clam broth from the tray and set it in front of Virgil without even a passing look. As he moved to straighten and step back he caught the passing scent of something light.

It smelled like spring, but the tension between the two turned the scent bittersweet. Whereas before the scent was comforting, it held a haunting memory of their day spent outdoors.

The rest of the dinner passed at an achingly slow pace. The conversations were guarded and stale, leaving Virgil numb from the boredom. D jabbed him in the side in an effort to get him to partake in the exchange, but opted to keep his mouth shut tight. Every guest in attendance knew of his family and their reputation in the industrial business, but no one wanted to hear from the pale, dour boy clearly too timid to hold his own in a world run by men.

Instead he focused on Logan. He noticed subtle changes. He seemed to be biting the inside of his cheek in focus, he steps became a little slower and his movements a bit more sluggish. But he never spilled a drop, even under the constant scrutiny of the other guests. Their comments were biting and their tone towards him infuriating. It took every ounce of restraint Virgil had in his narrow frame to keep from decking a man right then and there. Another comment about his new companion being a “shifty immigrant” might be enough to break his resolve. But Logan seemed largely unperturbed.

Each course was as rich and decadent as the last. Fresh almond bread, steamed and roasted summer vegetables, potatoes au gratin. Every dish brought out was a testament to the chef. The real show stopper was the main course- Roasted duck with glazed peaches. This was Patton’s pride and joy. No man alive could resist the sweet aroma and the way it all melted in the mouth. 

Logan leaned down to place the dish in front of Virgil. The plate was hardly heavy, but it clattered minutely as he lowered it to the table. He knew he wouldn’t be able to hold out much longer, but he remained steeled against the strain. 

Suddenly he felt a soft hand on his sleeve as he pulled away. For the first time all evening, he looked down at Virgil and was met with concerned eyes and knitted brows. 

“What is wrong?” Virgil whispered as the other guests talked to each other.

“Nothing, Master Virgil.” Logan responded.

Logan gave him the faintest smile and shake of his head before stepping back and returning to the kitchen to return the used dishes and return with the salads course. Virgil cringed. _Master?_ He hated the title just as much as he hated this gathering. 

\----

Virgil had never felt such a rush of relief to see a dinner end, if not for himself then for Logan. But he knew the night was far from over and knowing D’s penchant for socializing, he was in for the long haul. 

The men removed themselves to an upper-storey lounge, which was remarkably clever on the hosts’ part. What better way to show off the beauty of their home and the extent of their wealth than an intentional pass through the estate? A walk was a perfect opportunity to display the home: a deep red lined staircase lined with tasteful paintings along the walls and a crystal chandelier to light their way. Roman certainly had a taste for the aggressively romantic.

Virgil dragged his feet following his cousin as he smooth-talked circles around an older fat cat of a man. The house did not interest him in the slightest. Who in their right mind was actually interested in a chair that cost more than a blue-collar worker made in a year? He hoped to slip away to catch his dear friend If only Logan would check in with him, but it was becoming increasingly clear Logan wanted to keep his distance. The alarm bells in his mind were becoming increasingly louder every time he spotted him hard at work. 

Something was most definitely off. He was certain of it. But he hadn’t seen him since dinner concluded and he only hoped he was able to sit a spell.

Another grand door led to a wood-lined, dimly-lit room. The guests dispersed in groups of two and three, carrying on in hushed tones. Virgil found an overstuffed leather settee in a far corner away from the quickly building wall of cigar smoke. He looked about and spotted D as he slipped out of the room again. He was almost inclined to follow when he finally caught site of Logan. 

The alarm bells were almost deafening.

\---

The worst of the night was past and Logan was finally in the home stretch. A few more hours of leisurely drinking and the guests would depart for their own homes, leaving him in peace.

All he had to do was make occasional rounds with a cigar box and give a curt nod of his head before moving on. It was the second Logan given the keys to the cellar and the wine came out that things started to get a bit frisky. 

“But what is a lavish evening like this without a bit of forbidden fruit?” Remus purred, curling the tip of his mustache like a silver-screen villain strapping a damsel to the tracks. Prohibition was in full effect, but this never stopped anyone with deep enough pockets and sway with the authorities to keep the precious liquid flowing freely. 

And flow it did. 

“This is why they banned this blasted liquid in the first place.” Logan mumbled at the floor, cleaning up the third purposely split drink for the night. It sure seemed like it was purposeful; who in their right mind would spill wine during Prohibition except to show dominance? In keeping with a more modern aesthetic that Remus preferred, the drinks were spoiled on tile and not on the fine plush carpet that lined other areas of the manor. It would be almost impossible to clean a wine stain from the fabric. 

The demands of the guests were quickly building and the near constant nagging of the clearly intoxicated hosts caused Logan to quickly overwork himself down to the bone. His arm was starting to twitch and lock up; not a good sign. 

Still, he had responsibilities that had to be attended to: refill glasses, clean up spills, fetch extra cheese and wine, check to see if Patton was holding up. The tasks he had to perform outweighed the aching pain in his arm. Every motion caused the bones to creak; angry, intrusive knots worked their way into his muscles. The joints were clearly inflamed. 

Logan righted himself on his feet after tending to the fifth spill of the evening. The man had locked eyes on Logan with a sickening grin as he poured the contents of his glass onto the floor. “Better get that right quick, you stupid boy.”

He knew it was his job to remain silent and resolute but he was quickly running out of options as he reached his physical limit. Surely his employers would grant him leave if he asked. They were an eccentric duo and, at times, rather demanding, but it was never without kindness and respect. 

He made a frantic circle around himself, squinting through the haze and sickening smell. He spotted Roman’s animated gestures across the room and quickly made his away over, clutching his uniform sleeve despite himself. 

“Master Roman my ar--” he began with as much of a professional tone as he could muster, only to be shushed by a drunk Roman who quickly pulled him over in a giggly manner. 

“Looooogan, could you be a dear and get us some more drinks?” Roman asked, words slurring together into an incoherent mess. 

Logan spoke quietly. “Sir, please, I need to--”

Logan whimpered as Roman grabbed his arm tightly, wrinkling the fabric of his sleeve, causing Logan’s hand to twitch under the pressure. _It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It_\-- 

“Just bring it, Logan.” 

“Yes sir,” Logan sighed, unable to say no. When Roman was intoxicated he was quite the drama queen. He lost his temper with ease, making him unpredictable. Logan kicked himself mentally. He should of known. He shouldn’t have tried to argue!

Logan slumped back to the cellar, holding back unnecessary tears and gently pressed his fingers into the knots of his arm trying to relieve some of the pain. He was so focused on jamming his nails into the hard lumps forming under his skin that he hadn’t noticed Patton come down the cellar stairs, humming away on the hunt for for cooking wine. 

“Hey kiddo, do ya need to rest?” Patton asked, eyeing Logan’s arm. 

“_Master_ Roman said to keep working, so no.” The inflection on “master" made Patton flinch.

“You know, you don’t have to. Just hide in the kitchen with me! I’m sure everyone’s too busy with their drinks to even notice ya!”

“Yes I do. It would be inappropriate to avoid Masters Roman and Remus when it is my job to tend to their needs.” And with that Logan gathered the bottles he could manage to carry and was back off to the herd of entitled elites who were no better than brats nipping at their mother’s heels.

His right hand trembled under the weight of the tray, his left fine but beginning to tire. Everything was going smoothly (well, as smooth as it could get) until his foot caught on something as he made for the doorway. A man in a black suit and gaudy vermeil rings had stuck out his wingtip as Logan passed by, waiting for the inevitable with a grin. He tried to catch himself, but the trays in his arms prevented him; he fell face first onto the floor. It all happened so quickly, he barely registered what had happened. It wasn’t until he heard the laughter that he could piece together what happened, but he couldn’t focus on it. Instead, the fiery pain tearing through every nerve in his arm jarred him to attention. He made every attempt to collect his breath. He was mostly sure he didn’t yell, but he heard heavy footsteps running over, and felt firm hands grab him and help him to his feet. 

“What the hell was that!?” Virgil shrieked. 

“Nothing, it’s fine. Just go back!” Logan exclaimed, frantically trying to clean up the mess of wine, half eaten food, and shattered glass. Deep red wine stains seeped into the pristine white cotton of his shirt, crumbs and other unsavory matter had worked into his rapidly frizzing hair in the wake of the fall. _You’ve really done it now_, he thought as his mind battled his body for control. He was determined to clean this up before Roman and Remus made a scene.

Virgil hovered over Logan, watching him helplessly as the shaking valet gathered glass shards with his bare fingers. “Logan, that’s NOT fine. You’ve been struggling all night! Don’t think I didn’t notice,” Virgil huffed, trying to pick up dishes for Logan. “Here, just let me help!”

“It’s not your place!” Logan gasped, attempting to snatch an unbroken glass from his hands. His arm locked as he moved, and let out a tiny groan before seeing stars. He didn’t know he was about to faint until Virgil caught him around the shoulders. Virgil looked around to see not a single person moving to help. “Fucking typical,” he muttered, carding his shaking fingers through his hair in a desparate attempt to ease the pain Logan was so clearly in.

“Breathe. Breathe, please. Breathe with me,” Virgil muttered in his ear. Even through the sea of hair product, Logan could feel Virgil’s fingernails gently graze his scalp as he quickly came to his senses. “Virgil I still have things to do. Leave me be,” Logan forced quietly. “I’m certain you have more important business to attend to.” His words were beginning to lose their bite as he melted into the hold. His head felt lighter, and his heart slowly lowered to a less alarming rate. 

But when his head began to clear, his arm continued to burn.

“Stop arguing with me and hide away while no one is looking!” Virgil hissed in Logan’s ear, lifting Logan up by his waist. He was done sitting idly by while Logan became undone at the seams. “Listen, there has to be someone in this goddamned house that is nice to you. Let’s go to them and see if they can patch you up. You can’t function properly in this condition even if you could go back to work!” Virgil paused and looked down at the exhausted form in his arms. “Sometimes it’s fine to run away, Logan.” 

He wanted to argue, but something about Virgil’s presence was comforting. He didn’t really understand why Virgil was petting his hair, but the physical contact worked to ground him, bring him to his senses. He didn’t dislike the sensation. Only one other person in recent memory had touched him with such warmth. 

He meekly nodded under Virgil’s hand and mumbled quietly, “The kitchen.”

Virgil shrugged and hauled Logan over to the kitchen, throwing his good arm over the shoulder of his fine dinner jacket in an attempt to take some of the weight off Logan’s aching feet. He wondered why the servant would go there of all places. 

In a moment, Virgil watched Logan’s expression contort from exhaustion to something deeply pained. A low growl of immense pain passed his lips as another wave of fire flowed through his veins. Virgil could see tiny beads of sweat on the servants head as he walked, the throbbing from his injury clearly visible on his pale face. Virgil could feel his frustration rise, trying to comprehend what his friend was dealing with. For all their talking, Logan kept Virgil at a distance from his personal history. That needed to change and soon if he was going to help him in any way.

Logan stopped suddenly, jerking Virgil from his thoughts, and took a deep inhale of air when they made it to the door of the kitchen. 

And then they heard the arguing. Who Virgil could only assume was the chef, his southern drawl dripping with searing hot molasses, was talking to... D? It certainly sounded like his dear cousin. He listened carefully, unable to will his legs to enter the room. His nerves were getting the best of him. He didn’t like confrontation, and he especially despised yelling. This was all too much to process.

His eyes shifted from the closed kitchen door to Logan who was starting to stare off into space as if his body was beginning to shut down in response to the pain. 

\---

“Maybe you should just leave, D.” the chef growled, voice laced with the heat of boiling oil. 

“But Patton, I--” D began.

“Leave.”

“No, we need to talk about this- what happened to us! I even waited for these idiots to get drunk enough so I could speak to you undisturbed.” 

Patton fell silent for a breath before something low and seething bubbled from his throat. “You’re such a coward you couldn’t talk to me in front of them. So you waited ‘til everyone would be black-out drunk and forget seein’ us together?” 

“Patton I--”

The chef gripped the edge of the counter with white knuckles, teeth grinding. “You haven’t changed one bit.”

D took a bold step forward with a rebuttal primed on his tongue, but was stopped dead by a cold-blooded stare he had never seen from a man whose whole nature was seemingly comprised of sweet honey and sunlight.

“I’m going to say this one last time; get out of my kitchen before I shove your head into the frying pan!” 

D wasted not a moment more and turned on his heel, too stunned to speak and too sure of Patton’s threat to come any closer. 

\---

Virgil waited, willing his breathing to calm, for D to rush past before moving towards the kitchen door. His normally cool and collected cousin was in so much distress that he hadn’t even registered Virgil’s presence in the hall or even notice the valet in his arms, barely staying on his feet. Virgil carefully stepped into the room, nearly on the tips of his toes once the coast was clear. _That was close_, he thought. He seriously couldn’t get caught holding a man in his arms, and especially a servant of all people. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Logan, he just… oh well now, he didn’t understand why it made him uncomfortable. 

Patton stepped out of the kitchen door utterly furious. His normally cheery features bright red, eyes burning with a deep-seated hatred. However, his expression morphed into dismay and concern as he saw what was in Virgil’s arms. “What in the name of God!?” Patton yelped, grabbing Logan. 

Virgil went silent. 

“Sweet Jesus, what happened to him!?” 

“H-h-h-h-h--” Virgil began. He really didn’t enjoy the yelling. This guy seemed scary; downright terrifying! His voice was thunderous and even threatened to harm his cousin. This was a man not be crossed and D had clearly done just that. Full blown panic exploded in his chest. Does he assume he has harmed Logan? Would this man get mad at him!? He would swear up and down this wasn’t his doing if he could just speak! 

Patton breathed deeply, regaining his composure. He checked Logan over and rested a hand on his forehead. “Sorry to startle you, pumpkin,” he said, keeping his eyes fixed on his young charge. “Your ol’ Pat just got into a bit of a spat. Just tell me what happened!”

“He...fell….” Virgil whispered, tears wobbling in the corners of his eyes. He couldn’t cry. He wouldn’t! He would surely be teased! Some aristocrat’s son he turned out to be. 

Patton eyed Logan, who was staring at a table and holding his arm. It didn’t look like the ginger was registering his surroundings. “Aw, well thank you, sugar! Ah, where are my manners? What is your name?”

“V-Virgil….”

“Aw, well I’m Patton. Thank you for bringin’ him to me. I’m afraid he overworked himself again.” Patton chuckled, but his face fell when Logan didn’t laugh along. He was in pain and Patton could tell. 

“It was...no problem….” Virgil went to slowly sink out of the room, but Patton stopped him with a light touch to his sleeve. When Virgil turned back, he found the chef’s fiery features had softened. Perhaps he wasn’t so frightening.

“Hey, it was good of you to bring him to me, pumpkin.” 

Virgil smiled a tiny bit. “Yeah, like I said before, it was no problem.” Patton gave a big signature southern smile as Virgil slowly backed out towards the door and turned out of the room. The gloomy noble wanted to speak to Logan, if only to be absolutely certain he was okay, but the task of introducing himself to a new person and hearing Logan groan in pain was too much for his already frazzled state. He would just have to wait and hope to talk to him later. He didn’t take to the idea of leaving his friend in this condition, but it was clear he was in good hands.

Virgil took his time, wandering the winding halls of the estate. Images of Logan buckling under the mistreatment flashed with every step. The sounds of drunken conversation grew louder every minute. Turning into the dim lounge, he found it just as he left it. No one had noticed his absence or that of a certain bespectacled server. Scanning the smoke-filled room, his eyes rested on D sitting in a dark corner nursing an untouched gin and tonic, unmoving and watchful. That was an issue tabled for another time. 

Virgil leaned into the wood-panelled wall and watched the theatrics. With his nerves compromised for the night, his thoughts remained solely on Logan down in the kitchen. He wanted to help, but simply didn’t know how or if he even could, after all, he never saw himself as a paragon of self-confidence.. Perhaps, he could try to teach him to stand up for himself- to stand his ground?

One thing was absolutely clear: This type of behavior couldn’t go on for any longer.


	7. The Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was a sleepless night for Logan in both era as he comes to terms with uncertain emotions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Logan copes with his feelings for forty years.  
As always, this chapter was lovingly co-written by Symph (IG: artssoon_symphony/Wattpad: LaBassoon) and myself (IG/Tumblr: the_many_worlds_traveller)
> 
> CW: Food/alcohol mentions, drunkenness mention, hangovers, mild language, one moderately lewd innuendo

_Summer 1968- The Next Morning_

Logan barely slept. He spent much of the night hunched over his old desk. Staring down the blank pages of his notebook, poised to write something, anything, no coherent thought took hold. There was an imprint of a memory that refused to become whole- nothing more than vague impressions left by raw emotion and pure exhaustion. The sounds of clinking glasses, guarded transactions thinly veiled as friendly conversations, and expensive wines poured onto pristine tile played in his mind like a scratched and skipping record accompanying faded, colorless images in his mind. The only two things that rang clear and true were that snake’s voice and the scent of spring. 

Lavender.

Logan convinced himself he was not in the wrong for how he acted the previous night. The years may have softened that man’s sharp edges, but he could never forgive him for what he did, or rather, what he couldn’t do. His voice, even dulled with age, dredged up fragments of memories he could only wish to forget. He hoped that by shutting himself away in his study, placing a door between him and that voice that spoke so lightly of the person he wronged, he could focus on the details that mattered. The fingers in his hair, the warm support, the scent of lavender.

But in the hours since he berated and abandoned his dinner guest, all he could do was sit there at the mercy of his mind which only seemed interested in the painful aspects of that night a lifetime ago. He heard a careful knock on his study door not long after he left the table, but couldn’t bring himself to answer. 

He was crying. And to cause his husband anymore concern was the last thing he wanted.

Virgil eventually prised him from his chair and led him to bed around midnight, but he couldn’t bring himself to close his eyes. Snatches of memories played incoherently and continuously until the morning sun shone through the window. 

His back to Virgil, he could feel him silently shift and leave the bed. He turned back to say something, but nothing came to mind. Quite honestly he was embarrassed. His behavior was childish at best, but once the anger breached the surface, he couldn’t stop himself. At his peak, he prided himself in being in total control of his emotions. In his youth, he willingly showed pain and emotion, even if he didn’t understand it himself. As he matured, however, his sensitivities hardened, but never quite so much where his loved ones were involved. With Virgil and even dear old Patton, he couldn’t help but be swept away by their openness.

Logan turned to his back, watching the sunlight cast shadows from the curtains along the ceiling. Though his anger had cooled, he was left feeling something deep in his chest tugging at him. Was it sadness? Remorse? Frustration? He could feel it catch in his throat. A night of reliving old painful memories left him utterly drained, that much was certain.

His revery was broken by the sound of the bedroom door softly swinging open and Virgil’s cat-like steps padding across the plush carpet. He still couldn’t will himself to look his husband in the eye.

A sudden weight landed square in his lap, startling him to sitting. He stared down incredulously to find a canister of salt sitting there, the girl on the label smiling up at him. Jaw slack and words not quite forming on his tongue he turned to Virgil who stood there, arms crossed, with a tired smirk.

“Thought you could use a little salt for that tantrum you threw last night. It seemed a little _tasteless_ to me.”

Logan closed his eyes, feeling the weight of the canister against his legs. Virgil was right. He acted like a child. Logan’s once firm hold on his emotions was slowly slipping away like everything else. His memories, his control. He didn’t even want to entertain the thought of what was next to go.

In the moment that followed, he felt Virgil settle in next to him, arm around his shoulders and forehead pressed into his hair. “God, Lo. I’m sorry.” Something warm and wet traced his weathered cheeks. A choked breath shuddered in his chest. Whatever feeble hold he had over his emotions faltered and failed. Sobs wracked his aging frame, but Virgil only held him tighter, carding his lithe fingers through his hair.

Logan pressed his palms into his eyes until he saw stars. Why do you put up with me?! The voice in his head shouted. 

Though intellectually he knows reading minds is physiologically impossible, he feared for a moment Virgil could when he heard this:

“Because I love you.” 

Logan opened his red and swollen eyes and turned to his husband. Decades later and here they were again. How anyone could ever think that Virgil was a meek and spineless man baffled him, because he had never met someone so resilient.

In the cacophonous, torrential sea of misplaced memories, Virgil was the constant keeping him afloat.

**************************************  
_Summer 1925- The Morning After_

Morning rose over the estate, casting a warm glow over the dust motes that hung in the air of a simply furnished room. Patton groaned under the cotton sheets. A dull yet aggravatingly persistent ache settled deep in his bones and exhaustion seeped out of every pore. The night before had been long and utterly sleepless. Long after the guests had finally bade their drunken farewells, he was determined to put the kitchen back in order. His father taught him that his kitchen a reflection of the kind of man he is. A messy space would never suffice. It wasn’t until near two in the morning that Patton hung his apron on the door and willed his throbbing feet to carry him to bed.

He had passed Logan’s room along the way, tempted to press his ear to the door to ensure he was asleep but the siren’s call of his own bed was far too strong.

But sleep he did not.

Thoughts of his conversation with D echoed in his mind and worries over Logan nagged at him as the hours ticked away at an agonizingly slow pace. When the sun finally broke over the horizon, Patton had resolved to put that man out of his thoughts and focus solely on his dear boy.

He padded gingerly to the window, careful not to put too much weight into his tired feet, and pulled the window open. A gentle morning breeze wafted through the trees and teased his cheeks. Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with the promise of a new day to put the events of the previous night behind him. Opening his eyes again and adjusting his round wire-rimmed glasses on his nose, he felt a small trickle of life in his veins, just enough to get him going.

Dressed and prepared for the day, Patton made his way to the kitchen to prepare breakfast as he always did. He always believed that routine was the best way to ensure a happy and healthy life and stuck by this with dogged determination which, in turn, he instilled in young Logan. 

He turned a corner towards the kitchen and pushed open the door with gusto. With all the enthusiasm he could muster he belted out a loud, “GOOD MORNIN’ LOGAN!”, knowing that Logan was usually there waiting to set the table for Roman and Remus. Patton was met with silence and frowned at the lack of response. 

“Logan…?” 

The room was empty. Everything was as he left it just a few hours before.

And so began the hunt for his dear sweet kiddo. 

It didn’t take him long in all actuality. Patton knew Logan better than Logan knew himself. There were only three places Logan would be around the house this early in the morning: his room, the library, or the kitchen. His heart hoped that Logan was in the library reading his worries away, but his fatherly instincts told him the ginger wouldn’t be there. Though reading was his emotional escape, Patton knew the boy was likely in no fit state to read, much less focus on anything so heady after a night like that. Patton stepped lightly through the hallway careful not to make a sound and stopped at Logan’s door, gently tapping at the wooden surface. “Logan, hon, you in there?” 

There was a pause. Patton moved to turn the handle when the sound of Logan’s ragged voice reached him from inside.

“Y-Yes….” Logan stuttered. Patton’s heart sank. That was hardly the voice of the well-rested. It was dry and cracked and oh so small.

“Can I come in?” 

“No? No…!” 

Alarm rose in his throat. Patton did not waste another moment dithering about and let himself in. “Oh, pumpkin….” 

The bed untouched, Logan was curled on the floor sobbing, his knees pulled tightly to his chest. His hair was an absolute mess from being smothered in the product from the night before. It was clear in his panic Logan tried to force his fingers through the dried pommade, leaving hardened locks in disarray.

He was biting his hand, trying to muffle the wave of cries that tried to escape him. With glassy and worn eyes, he slowly faced Patton. Around the room laid clothes that he was probably having trouble getting on judging by his shirtless appearance. Wine and other foodstuffs were plastered onto his swollen cheeks, the only thing washing it away being his own tears. Whatever had overcome him last night clearly hadn’t lessened its hold. The pain and anxiety were etched into his features. Patton had only seen him like this twice before and it was moments like this that reminded him that Logan was still so young; mature beyond his years certainly, but still a fragile soul he rarely let show..

“I told you not to come in….” he whispered, throat clearly raw and parched. 

Patton laughed and sat next to him, careful not to let his overwhelming concern show. “You know I don’t listen very well.” 

Logan sighed and turned away, absently rubbing at his arm with force. Bruises started forming on the pale surface of the skin. “Patton…” 

“Don’t ‘Patton’ me!” he tutted, “It’s clear a little somethin’ is botherin’ a little someone!” He grabbed Logan’s hand, forcing it away from his hurt arm. “And stop doin’ that! You’re just making it worse!” He hoisted Logan to his feet, steadying him with hands firmly on his shoulders. Not bothering to get him in more than the trousers he was in, Patton tugged the dazed boy towards the door. “Come on, sweetpea!” 

“I’m not dressed!” Logan cried, following him. “And I can’t see well without my glasses!” 

“It’s fine. You’re gettin’ a bath.” Before Logan could protest, Patton continued. “Don’t even start arguing with me. I mean, have you looked in a mirror? you’re filthy! Besides, the warm water will help that arm of yours.” 

“It’s not even Sunday….” Logan mumbled in a weak attempt to protest. “Besides, Patton, I have work to do! I’ve been slacking this morning and the masters will be displeased if I’m tardy again.”

Patton sighed, practically pulling Logan into the white tiled bathroom. “Those two can wait until you feel better before you start doing anymore work for them.” Logan opened his mouth. “No.” Logan closed his mouth, earning a smile from Patton. “I just knew you’d listen to me!” 

He sat Logan down on a stool before filling the tub with water. Even with the luxury of having a bath, the tub wouldn’t heat up the water well. Patton waited until the tub was filled before scurrying off to the kitchen to boil water, calling out from over his shoulder, “Stay!” He was certain that left unattended the ginger would just go and work himself into a tizzy all over again.

Patton turned the knob to the gas stove, watching the flame carefully before filling a large kettle with water and placing it atop the hot coils. As the water boiled, so did his own anger. “Those two really outdid themselves this time…” he mumbled, waiting for the water to come to a reasonably hot temperature before taking it off the stove. He lugged it back to the bathroom, cursing under his breath. “This buck ain’t so young anymore. When in creation did water get so darned heavy,” he hissed through gritted teeth. He could feel his temper rising with each laboured step. 

His attitude simmered as he saw Logan resting his head against the wall, and chuckled as the boy jolted awake at the sound of the kettle hitting the tub. Logan got up to help, but Patton shook his head, tsking playfully. “I told you to stay.” he teased, grabbing some scents and swirling them around the water. 

“You looked like you were struggling….” 

Patton eyed his arm. “And you were going to help me lift a boiling pot of water?” 

“....Yes?” 

Patton chuckled. “You’re so stubborn, darlin’. Anyway, get in!” 

Logan blushed. “You’re not bathing me…. I’m not a child anymore ...” 

Patton just gestured to the water again. 

“Patton.” 

Patton gestured. 

_“Patton.”_

“Enough dithering. Get. In.” 

Patton planted his hands on his hips and eyed Logan. He wasn’t about to give in.

“Listen, kiddo, I know you don’t like it, but I need to get those knots out of your arm and the warm water is going to help. Would you like me to call Remus to help instead?” 

_“No!”_ Logan gasped. “I hate being in those situations with him. Whenever he does his check-ups he always comments on something I’d... rather not talk about.” Logan shifted uncomfortably, teasing a loose thread at the seam of his pocket. “And goes on and on about how easily it would be for me to get a woman. He’s rather lewd sometimes.” Patton knew full well Remus liked to tease the boy. It was how he showed affection. To his credit, despite his bedside manner, Remus was an excellent physician..

Patton laughed. “Looks like you’ll be listenin’ to me then!” 

Logan chuckled a tiny bit. “Well, look away!” 

Patton covered his eyes and opened them once Logan was submerged in the water. Instantly, the ginger’s posture relaxed and his eyes closed. “Lavender….” he mumbled, opening his eyes a tiny bit with a hint of a smile. 

“I didn’t know you liked that scent!” Patton chirped. 

A deep blush crept up from his shoulders. “I don’t--! I mean, I do-- I mean--” 

Patton laughed and pulled out some soaps to get to work on the servant’s unfortunate locks. He watched as Logan relaxed into the water, and other than the sniffling he looked at ease for the first time in the last twenty-four hours. Patton worked the lather into day-old pomade and felt a bit of lingering curiosity tug at him. Certainly it wouldn’t hurt to ask.

"So, who was your friend?" Patton questioned gently, struggling to fight the cement that held Logan's hair together. 

"Oh, his name is Virgil…." Logan mumbled, a blush settling on his pale face. "We met at the masquerade that Roman and Remus dragged me to not too long ago." 

"Have you seen him since?" Patton asked, finally managing to put a dent in the product. With another warm rinse, he was pleased to see his hair begin to soften.

Logan smiled, soft but distant. "I saw him at the market not too long ago. It was nice. We chatted under the trees and watched the wildlife." Logan's ears turned pink. "Oh, I don't know why he enjoys talking to me; I got nervous when speaking to him and started blabbering about how butterflies taste with their feet. How dreadful of me!" 

“Now that’s a conversation starter if I’ve ever heard one! It sounds like this Virgil enjoys talkin’ with you as well. It makes sense, he looked mighty bored at the party. Now, close your eyes reeeaall quick.” Patton chuckled as he poured water over Logan's head. Warm memories of Logan as a boy years ago sitting in this very bath drifted with the steam. The easy comfort would be short-lived as they both knew what needed to happen next.

Patton went to rubbing the servant’s shoulder and watched when Logan squirmed in pain as his fingers prodded and pressed to figure out where the worst of the tension was. "Breathe, Logan, I know it hurts…." he whispered as Logan cried out from a particularly tight knot in his forearm. "Say, do Roman and Remus know about Virgil?" 

"Heavens no!" Logan cried out. "I don't want them knowing at all. Virgil and the masters don't seem to see eye to eye." 

"Do you know why?" 

Logan chuckled and shook his head. "I'm afraid not. I guess Roman and Remus hadn't been kind to him in the past, but I don't know what was said between them. Something about his family maybe?" 

Patton beamed. "Well, family rivalries aside, I'm glad to know that you have a friend." 

"Right…. Friend…." Logan mumbled. Was Virgil really just a friend to him? He couldn't tell. Ah, he had to push these emotions away fast, internalize and destroy them until they didn't exist. A noble would not take a liking to a poor hired hand like him. 

"What was that?" Patton asked. 

"Nothing," 

Patton watched as Logan's face fell. He could tell the boy was in love, but until he confessed Patton was rendered useless. It reminded him of his own youthful days where he would laugh and talk and hold hands with the one man he loved. The two would share gentle kisses, sneak out at night, and dance when no one was looking. They revelled in stolen moments and held onto their affections as long as they could.

Those days were in the past for him now, but they didn't have to be for Logan. 

"It was nice of Virgil to bring you to me." Patton said with a small smile, remembering when his old lover carried him down a hill after he sprained his ankle trying to hop from rock to rock. He could practically taste the bittersweet nostalgia as he inhaled the fresh scent of lavender. The purple flower grew near the garden the two would run off to. Patton shook his head, hoping Logan couldn’t see the tears forming in his eyes. He swallowed and rubbed his eyes with the crook of his arm.

"He looked very concerned. It's nice to see someone show a bit of kindness when we live in such a cruel world." 

Logan nodded. "I think I would have kept working had he not stopped me." 

Patton's face morphed into disgust before struggling to regain his patented Patton smile. He wasn't mad at Logan, the poor kid was just doing his job like he'd done all his life. The twins on the other hand…. "How is your arm, kiddo? Is it feeling any better?" 

"Yes, actually!" Logan chirped, moving it around. 

"Are you good to bathe yourself, pumpkin?" 

"Yes." 

Patton laughed and splashed Logan in the face with some water. "Don't act so relieved! Anyway, I have to go make breakfast. Stay here and relax, I mean it! If you try to do any work today I will hunt you down." 

Logan giggled. "Alright, _alright_. I'll take it easy ..." 

"Good, because you have a book to finish today." Patton cooed, ruffling Logan’s hair one last time before slipping out of the restroom. Back safely turned from his charge his rage quickly boiled back to the surface of his skin. Breakfast was the last thing on his mind. 

The bathroom door closed with a soft click. Patton gripped the brass knob, feeling his blood warm and his temper rise. He took in a deep breath and turned on his heel, marching with absolute resolve down the corridor that connected the servant’s quarters and the main part of the estate.

Patton was bone tired, pushed to the very edge of his abilities to cater that dinner. Hours on his feet, ensuring every flawless detail was up to standard, had taken its toll. He could sense his days as a one man show were numbered. If he was going to survive another evening like that, he will need an extra set of hands, though he loathed to admit it out loud. 

Patton’s head began to ache. The crisp clacks of his heels against the tile reverberated through his skull, colliding and crashing into images from the night before. Tired couldn’t even begin to describe how he felt. Empathy was quickly replaced with ire. Seeing Logan, exhausted and stained with an unfortunate cocktail of tears and spilled wine, in the arms of that strange young man, his protective instincts blinded him from everything else.

\---

“Logan, what in creation happened to you up there?!” he asked once Virgil had left the kitchen the night before. When Logan answered only with a distant stare, Patton lowered himself to his heels and took the young valet’s shoulders firmly in his cracked and weary hands. He took Logan’s cheek gently in one hand in an attempt to direct his eyes to his. “Sweet boy, tell me what’s wrong.”

Logan looked down at his ruined clothes. Patton saw the heart-wrenching moment when the boy’s eyes focused on the angry red stains across his chest. He looked lost. 

A grandfather clock struck from a distant hallway. Eleven pm. Knowing the twins, the evening was still young and the party would continue for some time. “I need to get back upstairs.” Logan’s voice was cracked and raw. His steps toward the door uncertain. He gripped his right arm and bit back a sob. 

Before anymore damage could be done, and goodness knows what would happen if he had let that boy back up there, Patton engulfed Logan’s petite frame in a hug so secure no man could hope to escape. “Like heck I’m lettin’ you back in that den of wolves, hon. Consider yourself off the clock until further notice.”

Logan opened his mouth to protest. “I’ll not hear another word on the subject, you hear? Now, for the love of all that is good, tell. Me. What. Happened.”

And he did. The harsh comments, the unreasonable behaviors, just about everything. And then he faltered, voice trailing. There was something else. “No, there is nothing else. You’re right, I overworked myself…”

Patton didn’t buy it.

“Logan, sweetpea, I wasn’t born on this green Earth yesterday.” By then, Patton had led the young man to a step stool and unceremoniously sat him down. Leaning his own weight into the wooden kitchen cart, he urged him to continue. “You looked about as ragged as an old dish towel when I saw you in the cellar. I know every look in the book for that little face of yours. If you were in so much pain, you should have spoken to Roman or Remus-”

“I did,” Logan confessed. 

Patton sighed. Of course. His suspicions were spot on. All that wine. He had worked for the twins’ family for years, his own father being the cook before him. He knows the twins as well as his carefully organized spice rack and their personalities when deep in their cups wasn’t always the prettiest sight. Luckily he could count the instances he’s seen this on one hand. They were responsible men of enterprise afterall. 

But that didn’t change the fact they had crossed a line.

Patton stood and took Logan by the arm, leading him through the corridor towards the servant’s quarters. “P-Patton, where are we going? I need to get back.”

“No. You are getting cleaned up and going to bed. You’ve done more than enough for one night. They’ll manage without you.” Logan fell uncharacteristically silent. In the walk from the kitchen to the quarters, it was clear to Patton the last dregs of energy dissipated, leaving him with just enough to stay on his feet. When they reached his bedroom door, Patton turned and pulled a clean dish towel from his apron pocket that he kept to touch up plates before they went out to the servers. Reaching for Logan’s cheek, he gently wiped the dried debris still on his face. Logan staggered back, face flushed, eyes hardened.

“Come on, hon, just let me help you with th-”

“No!” Logan’s voice lacked the bite, but Patton still pulled back at the sudden protest. His surprise softened to worry. Logan’s fingers wrapped tight around his arm, thumb pressed into the muscle. “Just… I just want to be alone.”

He looked so defeated. The last thing Patton wanted was to leave his boy alone in such a state, but he was stubborn as a mule and knew well that his time was better served downstairs than arguing with a young man not known to budge when his mind was made up. He sighed and stepped back, giving Logan room to open his door and slip inside. 

“Goodnight, Lo. Sleep tight.” And the door closed with a hollow click.

Patton couldn’t bring himself to sleep. His desire to sneak in and check on Logan was strong, but he thought better of it. It wasn’t until the sun rose above the trees did the effects of a sleepless night hit him. Finding Logan in no better condition that morning stoked a fire he hadn’t felt all night. His paternal duties overrode every other thought and emotion; even those feelings still simmering under the surface from seeing that wretched man in his kitchen were tamped down and set aside. Now that Logan was taken care of, he had only one task in mind.

\---

A low grumble sounded from behind a news paper. Remus sat, wing-tipped feet crossed and propped up on the polished oak breakfast table. Another growl broke the silence as Roman stepped in.

“My god, Remus, haven’t you fed the beast yet?”

Remus lowered his paper a fraction, showing his eyes as his brother sunk into the seat across from him. “And a good morning to you, Sleeping Beauty. Not yet. You look like hell by the way.”

Roman was gray around the eyes. He hadn’t experienced a hangover this severe in months. Coupled with the lack of sleep, he felt like the embodiment of a walking trainwreck. Remus placed his paper down on the table and surveyed his brother with a smirk. “Looks like my dear brother still can’t hold his liquor.”

“And what deal with the devil did you make, hm? You had enough wine to sink Atlantis all over again and you look fresher than pine,” Roman replied with a weary sneer.

“Guess I lucked out with the better half of the genes.”

“Then I wound up with the business sense. While you were making lewd jokes and attempting to climb the drapery, I closed a deal with Smithers and Wently.”

“Cheers to that!” Remus handed Roman a cup of hot coffee which he waved away. “Not yet, need a bit of substance in my stomach first. Breakfast not ready?” Roman asked.

Remus shrugged and took the paper back in his hands. “Not a clue. Haven’t seen dear Patton pitter-patter around this morning. And for that matter, I haven’t seen Logan yet either. I had to go out and fetch the paper myself.”

“The sunshine will do you some good, surly surgeon. Now go be useful and find Patton.”

“Sorry to keep you boys waiting. I was just cleaning up your _mess_.” 

The twins turned to find a stern looking cook standing firm in the doorway, arms crossed. Roman flinched when Patton’s steely gaze shifted to him. Remus stifled a chuckle.

“Oh, you think that’s funny? I’ll have you know I’m just chock-full of rib-ticklin’ little jokes this mornin’. You ever hear the one about the boy who came to my kitchen covered in wine and barely able to stand? No? Oh boy, you best strap in, because this one is just a hoot and a holler.”

Remus put his paper down and placed his feet on the floor, leaning into his elbows to inspect the red-faced cook a little closer. “Speak English Patton, please. What are you talking about?”

Patton could feel his blood heat under his crisp blue collar. “What am I talking about?” he yelped. “Oh, I’ll tell you. While you two boys were doggy paddlin’ in enough drink to fill a pool, that boy was runnin’ himself into a frenzy. If it weren’t for a nice young man that brought him down to me, who knows how much longer he would have lasted. The poor thing has bruises from the fall you so kindly helped him up from. Why pardon me, you didn’t! Shame on you both!”

“Patton, please, could you lower your voice?” Roman asked, waving one hand and pinching the bridge of his nose with the other.

“I most certainly will not lower my voice! Lord save me, how thick are your skulls?! He _fell_. He’s got a nice big welt on his knee where he landed on that godforsaken tile and a mess of knots I just spent all morning working out of his arm. He’s farin’ much better, so kind of you to ask. Virgil was good enough to haul him down to me unassisted, bless him. With that skinny little frame of his, he’s surprisingly strong. But he should not have been the one to do it. Darn it all, you two! You are supposed to be his caretakers, not just his employers. We’re all the family that boy has got and if ignorin’ his pleas for a rest is your idea of how family should behave, I believe we are long overdue for a lesson in humanity.”

Patton took in a sharp breath, suddenly aware he had said all that in one go. He eyed the twins carefully. Remus seemed genuinely shocked by the accusations. Roman, however, seemed puzzled. “Patton,” he began quietly, “I’m terribly sorry, but I haven’t the foggiest idea of what you’re talking about. Logan was doing quite fine all through the dinner service. Then we adjourned to the lounge and…”

Roman’s eyes flashed with a realization and remorse began to settle into his features. “Shit,” he muttered under his breath.

“Language, please!” Patton cried. “Honestly, you two need to do some reevaulatin’ of what you deem appropriate behavior. The fact that you were so deep in your cups that you can’t remember what you did, or rather what you didn’t do, makes this all the worse!”

“Patton, I…” Roman’s voice trailed off. Fragments of the night before were flickering in his mind. He remembered Logan coming to him. He remembered barking an order. And the sound of breaking glass. “Oh, Logan. I didn’t realize that was him that fell. I thought it was just some unruly guest ruining my glasses for sport. Remus, did you see anything?”

He had been oddly quiet throughout Patton’s tongue lashing. Normally, he would delight in poking at the embers of Patton’s hot temper, finding that challenging him was an amusing game indeed. Seeing the syrup-sweet cook speak words hotter than chili-sauce amused him greatly. 

This, however, did not. He could be crude at times, but at the end of the day, Remus was a doctor and from the moment he met Logan when he was just a boy with a mangled arm, he was determined to provide nothing but the best care and protection for him. His well-being was more important to him than he would ever care to admit out loud. The fact that Logan had forced himself to work despite the excruciating pain he was clearly in on their account, and Remus did nothing to stop it, was a blow to the doctor’s ego. 

Remus got to his feet without hesitation forgetting about his paper completely. “Where is he now?” 

“In the bath”, Patton responded cooly. “He wants his privacy and I’m inclined to give it to him. I expect you both to do the same. In the meantime, you best think of how you intend to apologize to him and to me. And I took the liberty of givin’ him today off on your behalf. You know, doctor’s orders and all.”

Patton turned to leave, having said his piece only to be stopped by a hand on his sleeve. Roman looked down sheepishly. For all his big talk as the head of a successful automotive company, in this moment he looked like a mere boy scolded by an angry mother. “Patton, we- I am terribly sorry. My behavior was unbecoming of a man of any station. You do know how much we care about him… right? I know we don’t always show it bu-”

“Oh, I know you love him as much as I do, sugar.” Patton’s face softened at Roman’s genuine appeal. His frustration and anger cooled when the reality finally settled over the two like a cold, wet wool blanket. These boys were two halves of a whole idiot at times, but they were good people. Sometimes Patton had to take it upon himself to set them straight when their eccentricities got the better of them. 

“Logan may put on a brave face, but no wound heals completely without a little help from those around him. He is still so young. He has all the time in the world to be a polished, mature adult who masks discomfort with professional grace. I only ask you allow him time to breathe and take things at his own pace.”

Roman and Remus stood, eyes searching the cook who was looking more and more haggard the longer this moment wore on. There was something to that statement that neither twin could quite catch the meaning of. “Take what at his own pace?” Remus asked curiously.

Patton turned away and walked towards the door to hide a ghost of a sad smile. “Nothin’ you need to fret over, boys.” With that he stepped out and began to close to door behind him.

“WAIT! What about breakfast?” Roman called at Patton’s back. He looked over his shoulder with a smirk. “I might be madder than a bullfrog on the wrong side of the Atchafalaya River,” he began, “but I’m still the cook. Eggs and toast coming up.”

Roman watched Patton disappear down the hall and turned to Remus who seemed lost in thought. “So…Virgil?”

Remus looked up quizzically, eyeing Roman at his sudden change in topic. “_That_ was your take-away? Certainly you caught onto more than just that walking storm-cloud.”

Roman slumped back into the chair staring into his untouched coffee. “Oh no, Patton made himself very plain. It’s just…. That it seems our little plan worked like a charm.”

“For better or for worse. Mostly worse,” Remus added, not sure what to do with himself. The urge to fetch his medical bag and check on Logan was stronger than ever, but disobeying Patton was a far more terrifying prospect than any of the horrors he has faced in his field. 

“I’m only thinking… Patton did say we should give him time off. Perhaps another ‘chance meeting’ is in store.”

Remus stood straighter, eyeing his brother uncomfortably. “Look, this whole thing is cute and all, but we’re playing a dangerous game here. The Anx family are business rivals. And I need not remind you of a certain incident that landed our dear Logan in our home in the first place. Perhaps we are playing with fire a bit too close to the kindling, dear brother.”

Roman sat forward with a grin. “Now, when have you ever been one to err on the side of caution? Besides, that dour-looking kid seems to make our Logan happy and Patton did say his happiness and wellbeing is our responsibility.” Remus sighed with a tinge of annoyance. He knew when he was beat.

“Fine… What did you have in mind?”

\---

Relaxing wasn’t the easiest thing to do. Staring at his tattered and beaten body in a tub of crystal clear water wasn’t exactly his cup of tea. He studied his arm: torn and scarred, covered in reminders of the flesh aflame from the steel mill. The heat from the water only added to the imagery. He watched the flesh bubble on his-- No, stop. He tried to focus somewhere else, but his freckles only added to his miseries. His mother, like him, was decorated from head to toe in little brown spots. _Holding his mother’s dying hand, watching her gulp down her last breaths through shaky blood filled coughs_\-- NO. STOP. 

Logan took a large gulp of air before sinking down into the lavender scented water, lavishing in the familiarity of the smell. It seemed anything that reminded him of Virgil was welcome. Simple daily things made a connection to the dreary noble in his mind: the stray cats on the street, innocent butterflies that made their way around Logan’s window, the wild lavender that would grow in gardens and fields, the color purple itself. 

Logan agonized over his presence, knowing that he was always there, but not in the flesh. “Why do I worship him? How did this even start?” Logan mumbled, sinking in the water until the liquid met his cherry red lips. He truthfully did not understand his new obsession with the noble. All he did in his free time was think about him: what other hobbies did he have, did he wear a color other than purple, what business did his family run? Logan cringed as he thought of a final question. 

How did Virgil feel about him now? 

Logan rubbed his head. He was truly a coward last night, a spineless creature that couldn’t give himself a break. Surely Virgil wouldn’t hate him just for that, but did the noble think less of him? _It was bound to happen, you are a servant after all._

Rather than dwell on the discomfort, he decided to focus on the positives. Was this considered running away from his problems? Virgil had suggested it, but Logan didn’t understand what it meant. He spent life poor, but running away wouldn’t do anything. The famine and poverty would only follow, looming over him like a hungry shadow. 

Logan chuckled. Perhaps Master Virgil and he needed to have a chat later. Perhaps he could be held again, they could chat quietly when Roman and Remus weren’t looking and maybe ki-- 

Logan muffled a yell and tugged at his head. These thoughts were becoming too much to handle. He felt so intimate for no solid reason. Perhaps he had to think of something, someone, anything, as long as it wasn’t Virgil. 

But what could he think of besides Virgil? Truthfully nothing interesting happened in his life other than the mysterious black cat parading in on his dreadfully insipid livelihood. The only other thing of remote importance that happened to him was the party, but even that pertained to the subject of Virgil. Logan screamed internally, gripping at his newly freed curls. 

_"Roman and Remus have poor taste. I like your curls."_

Logan groaned and rubbed his eyes. The subject wasn’t going to leave his head. He was going to have to explore these feelings. _Not now though. Later._


	8. The Kite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A certain cat is afraid of thunder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is just so sweet. Enjoy the fluff while you can. There's a storm brewing....
> 
> As always, this was lovingly co-written by Symph (IG: artssoon_symphony/Wattpad: LaBassoon) and myself (IG: the_many_worlds_traveller).
> 
> CW Warning: Food/alcohol mention, pain mention

_Fall 1968_

Logan woke to the sound of coughing, deep and hollow. He pawed blindly for his glasses on the nightstand and slipped them over his chilled nose. The weather had quickly turned crisp and the days became shorter with autumn well underway. Logan craned his head towards the window to see the sky still cast in shades of navy with delicate touches of orange along the cloudline. The sun wouldn’t be fully up for another hour at best. 

Another cough rattled the bed frame, coming from under the quilt pulled over his husband’s shoulder. He curled in tighter as a shiver came over his frame. 

Logan had seen the signs. The night before, he moved slower about the kitchen and when Logan urged him to sit and allow him to take over, Virgil pointed a pair of cooking tongs at Logan’s nose, playfully reminding him of his track record in the kitchen. Barely touching his dinner, Virgil’s usual tightly controlled movements seemed sluggish.

“Are you sure you’re quite alright, gem?” Logan asked as they readied for bed, watching Virgil shrink under the covers with an increasing flush over his cheeks. 

“I’m fine, Lo. Stop your fussing.” His weak smile was unconvincing. Logan then spent the night watching Virgil’s chest slowly rise and fall, focused on the rhythm of his breathing. As he let his mind unwind, replaying their quiet conversation over dinner, he found his thoughts becoming more and more distant. 

It was his new routine; they would talk through a memory, he would try his best to record it in his notebook, and then, to ensure it really truly stuck, he would replay it in his mind, lingering on details he found particularly important.

As the sun continued to rise over the trees that morning, he once again found himself lying there watching him breathe, counting the seconds of each. As each cough sputtered through his chest, Logan’s concern rose a tick more. Virgil turned to his back in his sleep, shifting his head until he settled again. Logan sat up and reached over to place a cool hand over Virgil’s forehead, eyebrows knitting at the heat. _A fever_, he thought. 

Virgil shifted under the weight of Logan’s hand and a smirk played over his lips. Logan gently brushed his feathery hair from his eyes looking down at him with concern. 

“Oh, don’t give me that look, Lo.” he said with a lazy snark, one eye peeked up at him. “I’m fine. But could you get your hand off of me? You’re freezing.”

“Because you have a fever-- AH NO YOU DON’T!” Logan pressed Virgil’s shoulder back into the mattress as he attempted to rise and pulled the quilt up to his chin, tucking him in like a child. 

“Logan, don’t be dumb. I have to meet with the man weather-proofing our gutters to get a quote. The last thing we need is for our gutters to get backed up with leaves and mud and get frozen over when the first freeze comes in a couple weeks. Oh damn, we also need to start preparing the pipes in the basement. They burst last year with that cold snap and we need to make sure they’re properly insulated. The planters need to be brought in and--”

“Virgil, enough!” Logan cut in with more force than he had intended, making Virgil flinch. He shifted his glasses on his nose and softened his features. Once upon a time Virgil would run away from responsibility, determined to escape the pressure placed upon him by his family. As he gained confidence and separated himself from the expectations, he found he was actually a very capable person. When they started their lives together, he was determined not to be a burden, shedding the last dregs of his former aristocratic life. Much to Logan’s surprise and Patton’s delight, he took his new life like a fish to water.

For years they took on every task equally, sharing the burden with ease. As Logan’s body began to fail him, the scales tipped but Virgil quickly rose to the occasion. While domestic life agreed with him, Logan often worried he would eventually burn himself out. Despite his delicate frame and the near constant state of anxiety, Virgil could withstand a great deal.

Until he couldn’t.

Virgil pushed the quilt down and moved to sit up, stopped only by another fit of coughs that ended in a sneeze. This was an odd quirk of Virgil’s that Logan found incredibly endearing, first discovered during an outing early in their relationship when a flake of pepper caught in his throat. Virgil detested this as it was something his mother did. Of all the genetic traits he could have gotten from his parents, he got saddled with what cousin D jokingly dubbed the “snough”.

He gingerly pressed himself to standing, planting his feet firmly into the floor for stability. Quickly, the room began to tilt and turn and his vision narrowed. Before he understood what was happening he swayed towards the nightstand. Logan rushed around the bed in a frantic scramble and wrapped an arm around his waist before his knees gave. Logan pressed a firm hand into Virgil’s chest, guiding him back down to sitting. He could feel the heat of Virgil’s skin through his flannel nightshirt. His hand was clammy where his gripped Logan’s arm. Clearly standing was not an option.

“Fine.” Virgil sighed in defeat, closing his eyes in an attempt to stop the room from spinning around him. He laid back and peeked an eye at Logan who hovered over him uncertain of what to do with himself. Lifting a hand, he shooed at his bespectacled husband. “Alright, alright, you win. Now will you stop looking at me like that? ”

Logan grunted and covered his smirk with his hand. Even ill Virgil was an incorrigible brat, but it would worry Logan more if his dear kitty cat lost his bite. He traced the length of Virgil’s eyebrows with a gentle touch of his thumb and brushed the sweat from his forehead. Virgil responded with a tired smile.

“Think you’ll manage without me today?” he asked playfully.

“I used to do this for a living. I think I’ll be fine.”

Satisfied that Virgil was safely in bed, he dressed for the day, slipping on a well-worn wool cardigan over his freckled shoulders. At the bedroom bureau he clipped his wrist watch into place. With a certain meditated reverence, he lifted the wooden lid to the mother-of-pearl inlaid box and hooked steady fingers around the silver chain that held his amethyst. Safely clasped around his neck, he centered the pendant on his chest and officially felt ready to tackle the day.

\---

The day got off on the wrong foot right from the get go. The kettle boiled over when trying to fix Virgil some tea, something he felt was a task safe from his catastrophic kitchen skills. The weather-proofer was exceedingly late and entirely unapologetic for the delay. When trying to argue the price of the work down from what Logan felt was highway robbery, the man simply repeated the price.

He would have shrugged off these minor inconveniences if he hadn’t kept catching Virgil out of bed, dogging his heels like an anxious ghost. Logan could feel his husband’s eyes on his back as he heaved the terracotta planters in from the porch. Each time he found him wrapped pitifully in his quilt he would drop what he was doing to guide him back to bed with a stern look.

By noon, the pain in his arm graduated from a dull ache to a painful throb. His hip locked and his back protested. For the life of him, he couldn’t remember what else needed tending. He grumbled in frustration as he dropped into the living room sofa. He pressed tired fingers into the muscles in his arm and closed his eyes, letting his mind meander away from the pain and the nagging worry over… Something?

He felt the fog begin to cloud his thoughts. The agitation rose quickly and without warning. He knew he should be concerned but the question was why. His hand instinctively found the pendant at his chest, wrapping his tired fingers around the cool surface of the stone. He focused on the smooth straight edges lining each facet and the weight of it in his hand. He centered his thoughts on what he could feel, waiting for the fog to clear. In these moments, he felt lost, unsure of his way in his own mind, but one thing always brought him back. One person.

He felt the sofa cushion shift next to him and a sudden warmth settle into his side. He sighed, eyes still closed. _Of course_.

“If you keep wandering out of bed, you’ll prolong your recovery.”

“But I’m dreadfully bored.” Virgil whined as Logan wrapped an arm around him to draw him closer. 

“Better to be bored and safe than reckless and ill.” Logan tutted, though he was honestly grateful. Virgil seemed to have an instinctive response every time Logan found himself slipping. Before his mind ambled too far afield, Virgil was there to tether him to reality. 

Logan opened his eyes and looked over his husband, curled protectively in his arm. Still alarmingly pale and rattled by coughing fits that seemed to happen in quick succession, Virgil seemed happier to be out of bed.

“If you get me sick, I’ll never forgive you.” Logan warned with a smile, looking down at the shivering form next to him.

“I’ll take my chances.” A few coughs and a sneeze later, he pulled the quilt tighter under his chin with his legs tucked safely underneath.

Logan scoffed and turned his gaze towards the window overlooking the street. The neighbor’s children, and brother and sister of eight and ten were bundled in sweaters in their front yard across the street. The brother seemed to be pulling at a string attached to a kite that had gotten tangled in the branches of a tall tree. The little sister looked on and seemed to be on the verge of tears if the frantic tugging by the brother were any indication. 

Virgil let out a shallow laugh at the site, careful not to set off another coughing fit. Logan quirked an eyebrow and looked at him curiously.

“Does their plight amuse you? Little Terrance seems to be having quite a difficult time.”

Virgil shook his head. “Of course not! I’m not a monster, Lo. I was just thinking about something. Do you remember the kite?”

“What about a kite?”

Virgil looked up at him mockingly appalled. “You don’t remember? I dragged you out to fly a kite with me. I nearly broke your hip.”

“I think I would remember if you injured me so severely.” Logan replied dryly. 

“I’ll admit, it wasn’t one of my better ideas. I just thought you could use a bit of fun.”

Logan sat back, searching his memory. He felt his hands grow cold. _Yet another memory gone just like that? Hardly surprising. I shouldn’t--_

“Logan? Logan, it’s ok. It was a long time ago. It’s not important.” A pale hand rested on Logan’s chest, worried eyes searching his face.

“It is. It is to me.” Logan looked down at his lap, avoiding his husband’s concerned gaze, trying to understand why this was so important to him. He just knew he needed this but couldn’t find the right words to convey it. Every memory, no matter how small, was priceless.

Virgil sniffled and coughed before settling deeper into Logan’s hold, resting his head against his shoulder. “It’s not the most exciting story. It’s honestly a little embarrassing.”

“For me?”

“For both of us.” Virgil chuckled. “If I remember correctly--”

“Hold that thought!” Logan reached over to the coffee table and plucked the notebook up and placed it in his lap. Pulling a pen from his shirt pocket he turned to a blank page. “Alright.”

Virgil rolled his eyes and settled back into place. “As I was saying, I bought a kite from a shop. I wasn’t about to fly it alone like some sad goon so I coaxed you out of hiding. You were… apprehensive, but you came around eventually.”

“Oh?”

“That is until we tried to fly it.”

*********************************************

_Fall 1925_

“A kite…?” Logan asked, holding the thing papery craft in his hands. He had seen them before, but never understood the appeal of flying one. Granted, he was always too busy with work, but he was still sure that he wouldn’t enjoy it. It just didn’t have the same appeal as a good book in a quiet library. His brows furrowed as he turned it in his hand.

“Oh, I knew this was silly!” Virgil cried. “It just came to my mind!” Virgil demurred, watching Logan’s expression closely. “I thought it would be fun. I don’t know.”

The two agreed to meet up after running into each other at the market again. He wondered at the likelihood of meeting him again in the same place under the same circumstances. When Virgil first mentioned that perhaps a planned meeting might be “nice” instead of waiting for their paths to cross by chance, Logan at first refused because of his injured arm. He worried he would just slow them down. But as it healed he accepted with a smile. 

Due to the incident that occurred a few weeks before, the twins were more than willing to give Logan a day off, but couldn’t help but wonder what Logan wished to do with his free day. He was not forthcoming to absolutely no one’s surprise, though Patton could hazard a guess.

“There is a book I am reading.” Logan explained to the twins; his face was red as if he were caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “I wanted to read it outside if that’s alright. No distractions, just the calming effects of nature.” As when gaze shifted to his shoes, letting his glasses slip slightly down his nose, Roman smirked. 

The twins knew Logan wished to meet Virgil, that much was clear. The poor servant was a terrible liar. On the morning of his day off, as he set out through the side door of the manor, he felt extra bulk in his bag that hadn’t been there moments before. Sandwiches had been stealthily stuffed inside along with a book he hadn’t started. 

Virgil decided they would meet at an abandoned farm that a local family used to own before its owners passed away. He had happened upon the location on a walk through nature in an attempt to escape the noise of the city.

So now the two stood in the middle of a slowly blooming field, early-autumn wildflowers pooling in a sea of umber. Trees fenced the two from the outside world and a little rotting barn provided shelter from the sun and the eventual rain judging by the increasing wind speed and gathering clouds.

Logan chuckled at Virgil’s growing distress. “No, it’s an interesting idea. I’ve just never flown one before, and my adult brain now considers the idea to be childish,” he said, holding the kite up to the sun. A warm light filtered through the colorful paper and the wind licked at the streamers.

“When did you become an adult?” Virgil asked, eyeing Logan. “Adults are boring. Aren’t we supposed to be two of the few interesting people in the world? You cannot betray me like this.” Virgil shoved the paper toy into Logan’s chest with a mischievous cat-like smile. “Prove you are still at least somewhat entertaining.”

Logan frowned. “I am very entertaining!” He grabbed the kite from the noble’s hand. “I will show you.” 

Logan then proceeded to have a stare off with Virgil for the next thirty seconds. 

“Well, are you going to fly it, or have you accepted your boring adulthood already?” Virgil asked, sassily putting his hands on his hips for emphasis. 

“I told you, I’ve never flown one before.” Logan muttered curtly, cheeks warm. “Perhaps you should show me?” Logan wiggled the twine of the toy at his gothic companion. “After all, cats do enjoy string.” 

“That name will not stick!” Virgil hissed. 

“Hmm, it seems like it already did, kitty cat.” 

“I hate that one more.” 

Logan gasped in a mocking manner. “Well Mister Virgil, if you hate your nickname so much, then you might as well be the adult you fear! Last time I checked, adults do not get endearing nicknames.” 

Virgil chuckled. “Fine, butterfly, I will accept my name. Now, how to fly a kite!” Virgil took the craft from Logan. Logan watched as he laid the kite down on the ground and released a bit of string. The noble placed the wooden handle in Logan’s palm. “Start running, that’s how you get it up in the air.” 

Logan nodded and took the toy, wrapping his fingers firmly around the spool. He started running and soon the paper began to float in the air. Logan slowly gave the toy more string per Virgil’s order, and soon the craft began flying in the sky. “What do I do now?” Logan asked, eyeing the device fluttering in the clouds. 

“Run with it, make sure it doesn’t fall.” Virgil said, standing next to Logan. 

“Hmm. Like this?” Logan came to a skidding halt and watched the kite catch on the wind. His chest swelled. Soon, Virgil trotted up beside him, watching it flit across the sky. 

The two stood in awkward silence. The kite barely needed any momentum to keep it going, so not much running or activity was required from either of them. Virgil shrugged and worked a pebble out of the dirt with the toe of his shoe.

“I brought sandwiches and sweet tea courtesy of Patton.” Logan announced, still studying the craft with a wide eyed expression. He had to admit, he found this activity rather stressful and his arm was beginning to protest from holding the kite back, but being with Virgil eased his nerves. He had to admit, there was something freeing about watching the colorful kite take flight, tethered only by a single string. 

Logan caught Virgil form out of the corner of his eye, careful not to lose control of the kite above his head. He took a chance and turned towards his ghostly friend, taking in his appearance for the first time all day: droopy brown hair ruined by the wind, a light cotton blouse, messy dirt stained trousers. In a way, Virgil’s fashion resembled his own, and Logan liked the appeal. For once, Logan didn’t feel lesser than his peers or out classed. 

He looked genuine. Not the trussed and trellised persona he put on at the behest of social expectation.

Virgil leaned down and scooped Logan’s bag into his arms, giving it a jostle. “God bless him!” Virgil chirped. “Perhaps we should eat then. I think we’ll be more entertained by food than this kite.” 

Logan went to speak, but before he could a giant gust of wind whooshed past the two. Logan yelled and grabbed onto the kite, but the string flew straight from his hands. The two young men watched as the kite flustered up in the air, twisting and twirling in a violent flurry of color. Virgil cringed as the kite smashed into a tree and got caught in the branches. 

“Sorry! I’ll get it!” Logan gasped, running over the tree. Virgil followed at his feet.

Once they got to the base of the trunk, the two stared up at the craft in the leaves. It was far up, that was for sure. Virgil noticed Logan’s hands shaking, expression flat.

“Well, go on and get it!” Virgil ordered. He looked at Logan and stopped smiling when he flared and clutched his fingers, covering the tremor. He deflated when he realized what he had said and how he said it. “Are you okay? I’m not actually upset if you’re worried about that!” 

Logan slowly shook his head. “I...may or may not have a fear of heights…” he gulped, looking at the tree with a tense expression. 

Virgil laughed, causing Logan’s shoulders to jump. “Really? But you’re a butterfly!” 

Logan blushed. “Well, I certainly don’t think it’s very funny.” 

Virgil shrugged and turned back towards the tree, eyeing the bark obstacle. “I’ll get it then!” He looked for the best place to climb and found a dip where he could start his ascent. Logan watched as Virgil climbed from branch to branch. His face slowly heated as muscles he had never seen before appeared on Virgil’s frame. He snapped out of his daze as a kite plopped at his feet. Virgil smiled from a branch, swinging his legs and chuckling. “I got it!” 

“G-good job!” Logan stuttered. “Now get down!” 

Virgil’s smile slowly fell. “About that….” 

Logan sighed. “You silly cat, why did you climb up if you don’t know how to get down!?”

“I was trying to impress you!” 

It was Logan’s turn to laugh. “Jump down! I’ll catch you!” 

“No, I’ll climb down. I don’t want to crush you!” 

The servant watched as Virgil shakily made his descent down. The noble’s feet fumbled as they switched from branch to branch. Then, they slipped. 

Logan didn’t realize he had caught Virgil until his head hit the ground and a sudden weight was upon his chest, the wind thoroughly knocked from his lungs. He groaned, opening his eyes to find himself face to face with the young aristocrat. Logan’s breath hitched, realizing that his friend’s body was pressed against his, and he could almost taste the lavender scent in his hair. His eyes darted in a panic, trying to look away from the scene, but found himself staring at his companion’s gorgeously pale face. 

Logan felt two hands hold his cheeks, but his vision wasn’t putting the image together. “--alright!? Logan! Logan!?” 

Oh… Oh! Logan blinked. Virgil was speaking the entire time. “Yes! Yes!” Logan gasped. “Sorry I spaced out there for a second.” 

Virgil rolled off Logan. “Are you hurt?” 

Logan sat up and whimpered. “Yes, my head and hip just hurts….” 

“They’re probably bruised!” Virgil cried. “You shouldn’t have tried to catch me. You ended up just being my cushion! Oh, I’m so sorry!” 

Logan chuckled, but it sounded more like a wheeze. “It’s alright, how about we go inside and eat?” 

Virgil nodded, holding out a hand for Logan to take. The servant accepted the offer and couldn’t help but flush at the warm, soft skin of the noble’s hand. The ginger shakily got to his feet, cringing at the pain in his side and hobbled after Virgil to the barn, ruined kite in hand. The space was mostly empty, and the room oddly didn’t smell of animal as Virgil had worried about. Other than the ominous creaks from birds and rats the room was quiet, cool and peaceful. 

Logan revealed a small platter of homemade sandwiches with two glass bottles of sweet tea. He offered some to Virgil and then served himself, which Virgil watched intently. The two ate in absolute silence, unable to think of a way to strike up a conversation. The only things Logan could focus on were the pulsing pain in his hip and arm and the keen awareness of Virgil eating not inches away. The only thing that broke the silence was the sudden crack of thunder from the above and the roaring of rain. Luckily for them, none of the water seeped into the sagging barn. 

However, Logan could feel Virgil trembling next to him. “Are you afraid of the rain?” 

Virgil snapped. “No! That’s stupid!” 

Logan quirked an eyebrow and went silent. 

“...I’m afraid of the thunder.” Virgil mumbled. “It’s terribly loud.” 

Logan absently put an arm around Virgil, trying to comfort him. He cringed when he realized it was his right, already aching from the crash landing, but the gesture was already done so there was no going back. “Scaredy cat,” he teased, looking at Virgil with joking eyes. 

“At least I’m not a butterfly who’s afraid of flying.” Virgil retorted, taking a small sip of tea before resting his head on Logan’s shoulder. After another round of silence, Virgil spoke again. "You know, thunderstorms foreshadow danger and misery." 

"I do not believe that has been scientifically proven." Logan retorted. 

"Oh! There you go again being an adult!" Virgil cried. Logan laughed along with him. "Being a grown up is terrible. I want more of this, right here, right now. I'd rather stay with you and fly kites and hide from the rain and crash parties.” He paused and took in a slow breath, looking down at his hands. “I don't want to live my life as a factory owner." 

"We can still do all those things even if you grow up." Logan whispered reassuringly, holding Virgil close to his chest. "We will find time, I assure you. I'll find days free from work and meet you." 

Virgil smiled and settled into the hold, letting his gaze grow distant as he watched the rain. "I think I want to spend all my free time with you." 

Logan's throat felt tight. They could. 

...They would just have to wait. Logan didn’t want to wait. 

“Likewise….” 

\----

Logan walked home, chest tight and head flooded. _Is this love? No, that would be preposterous_. He took a deep inhale of air before stepping into the manor, ready to rid himself of all emotions until he was ready to see the noble again. He closed the door behind him and brushed the mud caked to his shoes on the mat, focusing all of his energies to filing his questions away for a time when his mind was clear. When he turned back he found the twin masters standing before him, Roman with his head held high and hands clasped behind his back and Remus leaning lazily into the door frame with his arms crossed. 

“Logan?” Roman began, eyeing the servant with a pitiful expression. 

“I believe we need to talk.” Remus continued, waving his hand in the air as if the two were taking a casual approach to the subject we were about to discuss. 

“About what?” Logan asked, seeming to lose his sense of formality. Did it pertain with where he went? Certainly the two didn’t see him with Virgil. Yes, logically that made sense, but the growing pit of anxiety said otherwise. “--Master Roman and Master Remus.” he added with a five second delay, biting the inside of his cheek to hide his growing unease. 

“It’s about recent behaviors.” Roman stated with a calculated and even tone. 

Remus pushed himself onto his feet and took a step forward. “You see--” 

Before Remus could put a complete sentence together, Logan was panicking. His once carefree feeling pooled deep in his gut. The crushing weight of frenzied despair and worry pressed relentlessly into his chest. He chided himself for thinking he could steal a moment of contentment. It wasn’t his place to be so greedy. His masters were disappointed in his lack of discipline, surely. “Sirs, I apologize sincerely. I won’t take a day off again if it troubles you two like this. I have been taking multiple breaks lately and--”

Remus took another step forward and gently pressed a finger to Logan’s lips. “This is precisely the behavior we’re talking about.” 

“The way you fret isn’t healthy and we conditioned you to be this way,” Roman added, his eyes narrowing in genuine concern. “We have led you to believe that your sole purpose here is to serve. That much became blindingly clear during our dinner party. We’re sorry, truly and utterly sorry for treating you so poorly that night. Really, we shouldn’t have been drinking that much. It was… unbecoming.” 

“And just because you’re our servant doesn’t mean we should treat you like one. You’re our family Logan, and well, we really messed up. It is clear now how we have mistreated you.” Remus explained.

“I guess what we’re trying to say is--” Roman lost his words and fell silent, looking to his brother to pick up the lost thread of his thought.. 

“Don’t be afraid to take breaks.” 

“Or ask for days off!” 

Remus leaned down and grasped his good arm with a firm hand. “And for the love of God, Logan, tell me when you are in pain. I would be a pretty dreadful doctor if I couldn’t help you in that regard.”

“Oh, it is quite alright.” Logan began, but the twins quieted him again. 

“But it’s not alright, damn it!” Roman cried. “Patton told us everything. He said he found you with you covered in food and wine.” 

“--And that you couldn’t move your arm!”

“--And you were crying!” 

Logan winced and waved them off. “I said before, it is alright. It is my duty to serve you. That is what we agreed upon when you offered me a place in your household. Don’t feel the need to concern yourselves over my… troubles.” 

Roman was hardly convinced, wringing his hands in frustration. Remus simply turned the tip of his mustache between his fingers and hummed. “I’m not sure we are on the same page, my freckled friend.” he said, eyeing the young man. It didn’t take long for Remus’ keen medical eye to catch the peculiar way Logan held his weight on one leg and his hand rubbed absently at his hip. “Are you certain you are ‘alright’?” he asked suspiciously, fingers quoting the air around his face.

“I am, really. I had a lovely day off.” Logan righted himself to stand firm on both feet and dropped his arms to his side, looking them both dead on, feigning confidence. The twins sighed, still clearly ashamed with themselves and not completely satisfied. Logan bit the inside of his cheek again, choosing his words wisely. “I really do not know what to say. This happened weeks ago. I wasn’t expecting an apology.” 

The brothers exchanged uneasy glances. “I’m rubbish at apologizing,” Remus sighed. “We had to plan our script and everything. Roman here couldn’t settle on a final draft.”

“Even then we forgot what to say the moment we saw you come in the door.” Roman mumbled. 

“We are very sorry.” 

“Truly, we are, Logan,” 

Logan shook his head and smiled. For some reason, this had Patton written all over it. He made a mental note to thank him later. “I forgive you two. Now, I have to go inside. I still have the day off.” The twins both nodded enthusiastically, allowing the ginger inside the manor to enjoy the remains of his day. 

“By all means, dear boy,” Remus purred, dramatically bowing and opening his arm out with a beckoning gesture. Roman scoffed at the display and opted instead to ruffle his curls as he passed, plucking a strand of grass from his hair with a smirk. It wasn’t until Logan was making his way up the stairs that they noticed the corner of a broken kite peeking out from the top of his bag.


	9. The Flip of a Coin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil and Logan leave a decision up to fate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This somehow became our favorite chapter to write.   
As always, this was co-written by Symph and myself.
> 
> TW: Major injury description, food mention

_Fall 1968_

Logan pulled the grey woolen sweater tighter around his shoulders and made a mental note to repair the draft coming through the window sill in his study. Chilly fingers wrapped around his pen as he scratched his signature along the bottom of a check. Utility and medical bills sat neatly stacked at his elbow. No one warned him that old age would cost a small fortune. 

The visits to the doctor were expensive and increasing exponentially. Just the previous week he sat with Virgil in Dr. Horowitz's office to discuss what had already been discussed many times before. Had new symptoms appeared? _Not of note._ Have the mood swings been increasing? _I suppose._ Has his short term memory been worsening? _I do not wish to answer that._

Logan tired of detailing every moment of his day, every time he forgot why he entered a room, every time he lost his temper. Where Logan fell quiet, Virgil filled the gaps. He was infuriatingly diligent in his observations and hardly missed a detail. Whether an awkward conversation thirty years ago or a worrisome headache the week before, nothing seemed to get past Logan’s dutiful partner.

His doctor had prescribed a regimen questionably tested medications and physical activity. Virgil kicked him in the shin for scoffing. He didn’t need to be “prescribed” physical activity, it was simply a result of living. And how in blazes was that going to aid his memory?

He was inclined, though, to trust in his physician, if only for Virgil’s sake.

Keeping his husband’s mind at ease was a sisyphean task, but he kept at it because that was precisely what Virgil had been doing for him for forty-some years. He would gently trace every worry line around his eyes with the pad of his thumb and assure him that everything happened as it needed to. To needlessly fret over every minor aspect of their lives that existed beyond their control was a waste of energy. This was a lesson he was forced to learn despite his best efforts to retain control. 

Instead, he focused his efforts on small tasks that required his time and attention to complete. For every bill he signed, sealed, and paid away, two more appeared in its place. It was an endless cycle that brought him a sense of peace. It was a mundane task that required no great intellectual capacity on days when his mind was just a touch more foggy. 

Logan let out a deep sigh. He could feel his focus wain. Pressure was slowly building behind his eyes and his vision blurred around the edges. Moments like this were becoming more frequent, but Logan refused to let his limitations get the best of him. Pressing his fingers into the bridge of his nose, he pushed his checkbook aside.

“Damn it all” he muttered under his breath. The frigid wind whistled through the crack in the window sill with a sharp whine. Pressing himself to standing he circled in frustration trying to find anything at all to use as a stopgap. The sound was becoming aggravating, pulsing in his skull. Logan grit his teeth and inhaled through his nose, screwing his eyes shut. Hand clasped over the pendant at his chest, he allowed the sharp point to dig into his palm. He needed to divert his attention. He needed silence.

The throbbing in his head wound and writhed under his skin, travelling down his neck and gripping his shoulders. 

_Breathe_, a voice told him. It sounded like Virgil. Virgil’s voice. _Focus. Breathe._ He was alone and hearing voices. This didn’t bode well for him.

A dull, nervy pain gnawed at his arm, tugging buried memories to the surface. Ghostly sensations of scorched skin made his fingers curl in as if bracing himself against the wave of pain he knows to expect. Nerves singing, an image of Remus, sweat-drenched brow furrowed, hovering over him with gloved hands flashed through his mind. His chest thudded and his pulse roared in his ears. 

He remembered Remus shouting commands to people he couldn’t see. He remembered fresh white gauze instantly bloodied and replaced. He remembered the pain…

And then nothing.

The wind outside died down and the awful whine dissipated. The room around him was bathed in a sudden, jarring silence. His mind pulled up short and the thoughts went dark like the flip of a stubborn old switch. A chill settled deep into his bones, leaving him feeling at once tightly wound and infinitely exhausted. 

Unwinding his fingers from around the amethyst at his chest, he opened his bleary eyes to see sharp intendations drawn across his palm like sneers at his faltering mind. He stood frozen, feet firmly planted in the old rug of his study. 

He felt lost; utterly untethered. 

Logan’s breathing slowed and the hammering in his chest subsided, but an inky unease washed over him. He looked about himself again, aimlessly searching for anything to latch his mind to. He needed to feel grounded. His eye caught the black leather binding of his notebook, carefully set aside on the arm of his reading chair. As if by impulse alone, he was drawn to it. Taking a slow, methodical step, he reached an uncertain hand down and grazed his fingertips over the cool leather cover. 

Fragments of memories, bits and pieces of a day etched into his skin, bubbled under the surface of his consciousness. This was not a story he enjoyed revisiting. He was content to let it fade with every other unfortunate moment in his life, but it was clear his subconscious felt otherwise.

Logan sighed, feeling the bone-deep exhaustion pull him down inch by aggravating inch. Lowering himself into the soft recliner, he took the notebook into his hand, fishing a pen from his breast pocket. He carefully leafed through dozens of ink-filled pages until he found one that was glaringly blank. 

The imprint of pain bound to this particular memory caused his ruined arm to tense and fingers to tighten around the pen. “Do I really want to do this…” he muttered. His eye caught the gleam of the stone pendant and he took a deep breath. The weight of it against his chest, gentle and constant, calmed him. 

One more stabilizing breath and he primed the tip of the pen over the top of the page. “Away we go then…”

\---

The sun dipped below the tree line and took the wind with it. The street was awash with a bright yellow coating of freshly fallen leaves forced off the branches in the storm. Virgil had busied himself throughout the day, careful to give Logan a wide berth. On days where his mood was fickle, Virgil chose to give him space and occupy himself until his husband felt inclined to interact. He worried over leaving Logan alone in his study, but his routine pass by the closed door, listening for his subtle movements inside, warranted no intrusion.

Dinner, in the oven and filling their cozy home with the rich aroma of ginger and squash, would not be ready for another half hour. Virgil dried his hands with a dish towel and leaned his petit frame against the counter, enjoying the scent. One of Patton’s tried and true home recipes, Virgil was always confident it would bring Logan a bit of comfort.

“What is that musty moth up to anyway?” he mused with a smirk. It was nearing six in the evening. Logan was normally true to his habit and emerged from hiding around this time every evening to pester Virgil while he cooked, rattling off random tidbits and facts obliquely related to whatever had cropped up in conversation. It was an odd quirk of Logan’s. He was never content to let a conversation lull, feeling the need to fill the silence with a thought before too long. Tonight, the kitchen was silent.

Virgil padded across the carpeted living room and around the corner, coming to a stop in front of Logan’s study. He stood listening for any indication that he was busy and would prefer to go undisturbed. But no sound of turning pages or the scratching of a pen across a sheet met his ears. He took the knob in his hand, quietly turning it and pressing the door open a fraction.

“Lo? Supper will be ready in thirty…” 

Peeking his head through the door he was met with a rather endearing sight. Logan, with notebook haphazardly balanced in his knee and pen dropped to the floor, was fast asleep. His head lolled to the side, resting on the winged back of the recliner. His face was blissfully relaxed.

Virgil smiled softly to himself and ventured inside on the balls of his feet, careful not to make a sound. Kneeling down, he picked up the pen and gently slid the notebook out from under Logan’s weathered hand. He straightened and placed these on the desk before turning back to the sleeping form in front of him. Virgil leaned down and brushed his lips over Logan’s brow, tracing his cheek with a feather-light touch of his hand. Eyelids fluttered and drifted open, resting on the man inches from his face.

“May I help you?” his voice course from sleep was barely above a whisper. Virgil caught the faint hint of mock annoyance in his tone and chuckled

“Supper’s almost ready. What have you been up to?”

Logan shifted to sit up and let his eyes wander over his lap. “I… I swear I thought I was writing. What in blazes happened to--”

“Oh, your notebook. Right here.” Virgil snatched it back into his hand from the desk and handed it to Logan. “Anything interesting?”

A shadow fell across Logan’s face for only a moment as his eyes flicked to his arm. He drew in a breath and raked his fingers through his thinning hair. “It’s not important.”

“If it’s in the notebook, it must be. Tell me.” Virgil’s tone was hardly demanding. If anything there was something cloying about the tone that brought a defeated smile to his lips. 

“You’re not going to like it.”

“Try me.” 

_Indignant as ever_, Logan thought with a laugh. “It’s…” he paused, searching for the right words, “It’s odd. I’ve only ever had fragments of this day. Patton and Remus had to fill in the gaps for me after I regained my faculties.”

Virgil shook his head and sighed. “Your arm.”

“Correct… As usual.”

Virgil perched himself on the arm of Logan’s reading chair, leaning his weight into his shoulder. “Want to talk about it?”

“I would rather not.”

Virgil flashed Logan a mischievous grin as he reached his hand into his pants pocket. “Ah-ha!” He held up a quarter.

“Heads, you talk to me. Tails, I drop the subject and we go eat dinner.”

“This feels... familiar.”

“I wonder why?” Virgil asked in a mocking tone. With a flick of his thumb, the quarter went zipping up into the air and dropped with a soft thud at Logan’s feet. Both leaning down to get a look, Virgil grinned and Logan adjusted his glasses and leaned back in defeat. Turning to the most recent page he opened his mouth to begin before stopping himself.

“You know, dear kitty cat, you might be more comfortable in a chair.”

Virgil shifted on his perch at Logan’s shoulder and gestured with a dramatic flick of his wrist. “I’m good, thank you. You were saying?”

Logan took a moment to collect his thoughts. This was not a happy memory. In fact, it nearly ruined them.

*****************************************

_Early-Fall 1925_

Logan was enjoying a quiet morning. The masters were gone and he had completed all of his tasks early on in the day. As it usually goes, he naturally he found himself tucked into a chair by his window, curled up like a cat around his book and comfortably warmed by the sub filtering in through the drapes. He was finally going to finish this story about Mr. Dorian Gray. He had tried to finish it before, but every time he went to read his mind was invaded by thoughts of the dreary-eyed noble and the faint memory of his body pressed against his own. It was nearly impossible to focus when such _difficult_ thoughts plagued his mind. Logan didn’t know how to describe how he was feeling or what any of it meant; “difficult” was the best word he could muster. For now he simply wanted to finish this book and put his worries over Virgil in the back of his mind. 

_No weird thoughts_, he told himself. 

_A calm state of mind._

_No thoughts about Virgil._

“Looooogan!” a ghostly voice called, muffled by the glass windowpane at his back.

_BLOODY HELL!_

Logan jumped out of his seat and crumpled onto the floor. He brought himself to his feet as he heard a snicker and a tiny knock from the outside. “Logan, it’s me!” Virgil called, resting his frame against the window. “Open it up so I can come in!” 

Logan swung the window open and watched as his feline friend rolled into his room, hitting his head on the floor and laughing. Twigs and dried leaves fell out of his hair and the folds of his day clothes. When the shock of Virgil’s sudden appearance at the second-storey window wore off, Logan was left feeling dumbfounded by the absurdity of it all. Logan eyed the tree by his window that this madman clearly climbed in broad daylight and shook his head before turning his attention to that very madman heaving himself to standing, brushing off his brown trousers. 

“You’re getting a mess on my floor!” Logan cried, shutting the window and quickly swept up the debris Virgil left in his wake. “Virgil, you’ve really outdone yourself, you crazy cat! What if Master Roman and Master Remus were to see you sneaking into my quarters. Well, they would have multiple words I’m sure!” 

Virgil continued to cackle. “Aw, Logan, lighten up!” he purred, circling his prey. “Can you sneak out?” 

“I can, but will I? Absolutely not.” Logan huffed. “I’ll have you know that I have a free day today and I was intending on spending it alone with my book!”

“Well, it’s a good thing I showed up then!” Virgil cheered. 

Logan wanted to tell him to go away, but something about his behavior was off. Virgil seemed too cheerful. It felt forced. He was trembling, and his eyes looked glazed over. For a moment he simply chalked it up to the climb up the tree, but something in his stilted laugh and tight-set jaw told him there was more to it. _Perhaps he got into a spat with his father?_ Logan sighed, settling himself back in his chair. “Fine, I will try to get the day off, but you must never come through my window again!” Logan stared at Virgil with a small twinkle in his eye. “Deal?” 

“Deal!” 

“Now shoo you crazy cat!” Logan ordered, opening the window. “And make sure you get down in one piece this time. I won’t be there to catch you!” Virgil let out a small meow before climbing back out of the servant’s room. Logan couldn’t help but chuckle. Virgil was an odd individual. He adorned himself in a light, but still long cotton shirt and a pair of ratty trousers now dusty from the climb. He certainly didn’t carry himself like an aristocrat’s son. _So much for not thinking about him._

Closing his book, Logan let a few minutes to pass as punishment for disturbing his morning and then made his way outside. He didn’t bother to tell Patton where he was heading. The chef was taking a well deserved rest day and hadn’t woken up yet. He hoped to be back before anyone noticed he was gone.

Logan slipped on his shoes and padded down the back stairwell, careful not to make a sound as he passed Patton’s door. Through the kitchen and out the side service door, Logan silently crept around the outside of the manor until he found Virgil pacing restlessly along the gravel path.

When Logan stepped into view Virgil beamed. “I thought you’d keep me waiting forever!” 

“I was debating it.”

Logan chuckled as Virgil gasped in mock offense. “Well, I was going to take you out for some fun, but now I feel as though I should leave you at home!” Virgil grumbled, a tiny smile playing at his pale face. “But, since you’re here as promised, I suppose I can forgive you.” 

“You’re not doing me any favors,” Logan retorted, sticking his tongue out. “But, if my cat ventures too far by himself, who knows what kind of dangerous situations he’ll find himself in.” 

Virgil’s ears reddened. “‘My cat’? I’m not actually a cat you know!” 

Logan shrugged, earning a laugh from Virgil. He couldn’t bare to keep a straight face any longer and let out a chuckle of his own. He was relieved to see the tension fade from his friend. His shoulders seemed to lower and his face relaxed. Whatever had happened beforehand seemed to be off of the noble’s mind. “So, what did you have planned on this magnificent day?”

“Just a walk,” Virgil admitted. “Would you like to come? You don’t have to. This was a dumb idea…. I just…. I don’t know ...” 

Logan sighed. For a person who seemed so confident and certain of himself, Virgil was certainly shy and timid at the oddest moments. Logan felt as though he would never make sense of this boy’s contradictory nature, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t curious. “Of course we can go.” 

The two seemed to enjoy playing the silent game. A lull in conversation always followed them; the pair was too awkward for their own goods. Rather, they spent time reflecting together and simply enjoyed each other's presence. Much was said between them with few words. However, Logan could tell something was bothering his companion. Chewing his lips, playing with his fingers, refusing to make eye contact with Logan-- these were all signs that the man had at least something on his mind. “What is troubling you?” Logan asked, interrupting Virgil’s train of thought. 

“Oh, it’s nothing.” 

“Falsehood.”

Virgil went to argue, but stopped the second he met Logan’s eyes. “I… I was wondering about your arm….”

“Oh, well, I’m afraid to tell you that you won’t be hearing about that.” 

“You can’t be serious,” Virgil chuckled, but froze as he caught eyes with Logan: cold, demanding, and scared. “Ah, well….” He wrung his hands, unable to think of a new topic. Curiosity killed the cat after all. “Now you’ve made me more curious! I want to know what happened!” 

Logan shook his head. “It is ugly.” 

Virgil pursed his lips into a pout. “What if I find a way to make you tell me?”

Logan sighed, unable to resist Virgil. He was relentlessly persistent. “If you can find a way, then I suppose I will share.” 

Virgil smiled, pulling a small circular object from his pocket, glinting in the morning light. 

“A coin?” Logan asked. 

“A coin," Virgil challenged. “Heads, you tell me what happened. Tails, I never bring up the subject again.” 

Logan slumped his shoulders and shook his head, unable to ignore Virgil’s earnest curiosity. Surely if he was trying this hard, then the conversation wouldn’t be too terrible. He felt could trust him. "Alright, do your tricks then." 

Virgil flicked the coin in the air and covered it with his hand as it fell into his palm. "Flip it or leave it as it is?" Virgil asked, eyes sparkling with mischief, a feline smirk tugging at his lips. "Neither of us knows whether it is heads or tails right now." 

"Don't flip it," Logan decided. "Let fate take its course, no need to alter it." 

Virgil smiled as he lifted his hand, puffing his chest and stealing a glance at his companion. 

“Dammit…” Logan whispered as a stoic profile met his eyes from the coin in Virgil’s palm. A wave of icy concerned doused Virgil’s skin, hurriedly shoving the coin back in his pocket. Logan pressed his fingers into the tweed sleeve of his jacket and let out an uncertain breath. “It happened when I was younger--”

“Logan, I was kidding. Really, you don’t have to tell me,” Virgil interrupted, eyes full of worry. He didn’t want to hurt Logan even if his own curiosity was driving him mad; he wanted to wait until Logan was comfortable. “If it’s too painful to bring up then don’t.” 

Logan shook his head, allowing his composure to return. “I just don’t remember a lot of what happened. It was in a steel mill... I wasn’t even supposed to have the job, so I lied about being older to get it.”

“How old were you?” Virgil asked. 

“Thirteen.”

“And how old did you say you were?” 

“Fifteen.” 

Virgil shifted uncomfortably. An uneasy chill crawled under his skin as the alarm in his mind began to blare. Something was wrong, he could feel it. Before he could try stop Logan from saying anything more, his friend soldiered on, avoiding his eyes. 

“Normally the factory refused to hire children, but they were running low on men so they took what they could get,” Logan explained. He looked around to make sure no one was in view before gingerly rolling up the sleeve of his right arm, careful to lift the fabric above his skin as he went. His arm was swollen; larger than his other arm by quite a bit. The skin was covered in angry blotches of pink and red with a network of silvery scars catching the light where the skin pulled taut. His fingers were stiff as he reflexively curled them into his palm. Bruises and knots decorated the burnt flesh were he dug his fingers into the muscle to release the tension that dogged him daily. The only sign of the appendage belonging to a human were the occasional patches of freckles where unharmed skin met the scars. Virgil swallowed hard at the sight, feeling his throat grow tight and parched. How Logan managed to hide this from him for so long left him dumbfounded. 

Virgil clenched his hands, digging nails into his palms. The alarm was becoming deafening. “H-how?” he choked out. 

“Again, the details are foggy. I remember I was working with some sort of machine; it was quite hot and heavy…. I….” Logan’s brow knitted, trying to recall the details of the day. “A man cut his finger off, I remember that part. He started screaming and a bunch of men came over. I got scared and in my daze someone trampled me and well, I was still holding the machine and--” Logan looked at his arm. “I don’t remember much else. There are some things I held onto: my bone snapped, by fingers felt swollen, the skin of my arm felt like it was bubbling, and men were screaming at me. But, other than that I don’t recall much else. I just...blacked out.” 

Virgil’s face went pale. “A steel mill?” he asked, eyes fearful. “Do you remember what it was called?” 

“Oh, not really.” Logan admitted, nervously rubbing his arm. “It was...oh, it had something to do with the last name ‘Anx.’ Other than that I cannot recall much else. Why do you ask?” He turned to face Virgil and found the noble with tears in his bewildered eyes. “Virgil, what has gotten into you? Is it the heat of the day?” 

Virgil stifled a sob as he scrubbed his eyes with his hand. His mind sputtered in a moment of clarity he absolutely did not want to accept. Unable to form a cohesive sentence, he forced the words out of his mouth in a frenzy. “Anx S-steel Mill and Industrial Fabrications.” He searched Logan’s face on the thin hope that his fears were unfounded. His heart sank when Logan’s lips pursed and his eyes betrayed a look he hoped he wouldn’t see. The look of recognition.

“I…” Logan began, “I remember. Yes, that was the name of the mill. But how in blazes did you know?”

Virgil swayed on his feet, knees threatening to give way. His composure crumpled. Logan caught him around the waist before he hit the ground.

“Virgil? What the bloody hell is the matter?” Logan implored, wrapping his arms tighter around his friend’s frantic form.

“M-My last name….” Virgil sobbed and covered his face with his hands. “Cover your arm. Cover it!” 

Logan quickly rolled his sleeve down. “What is this about your last name, Virgil?” He pretended not to know. He didn’t want it to be true, but the next phrase out of Virgil’s mouth didn’t surprise him. 

“My last name is Anx,” Virgil whispered in a voice so thin and cracked, Logan almost convinced himself he had not heard him correctly and it was all just a misunderstanding. It wasn’t. This was as real as the scars that forever marked him. This person, his friend, was a member of the very family that left him for dead; just another incident to sweep under the rug in the name of business.

Logan wasn't sure what to do. He wasn't sure how to feel. He held Virgil to his chest as he cried, openly weeping into his jacket. He screwed his eyes shut and held his own breath but still managed to gently rub his back in a soothing manner to comfort his friend. The injury wasn't Virgil's fault after all; It was the steel-eyed foreman and unflinching factory owner that simply watched as he writhed in pain and turned their backs on him. They weren’t Virgil. Virgil was different. It was hard to pin the blame the one friend he had that treated him as an equal. 

He held the suddenly delicate creature close in his arms, willing his own breath to steady. For now he had to focus on what he was embracing, and not the looming past that threatened to haunt him all the more. For now he just had to breathe.

In a moment of silence, a realization crept into Logan’s mind. He tightened his hold and rested his forehead in that lavender-scented hair.

And he hoped Virgil wouldn’t run away. 

\----

Patton watched as Logan pushed through the service door in the kitchen, shoulders slumped and eyes dead. “Hey pumpkin, where’d you run off to?” he asked, sauntering over to embrace Logan in a fatherly hug. 

“He’s going to run away….” Logan whispered. “I’m his new problem….”

“Who?” Patton asked, perplexed by the unsettled tone of his voice. 

“I’m his problem….” Logan’s gaze grew more distant as Patton leveled himself to meet his eyes.

“Logan,” Patton said a little more sternly. He couldn’t help if he didn’t get an answer and goodness knows he only wanted to help. “Tell me what’s wrong, please.” 

Logan only buried his face in Patton’s cardigan, pulling tighter into the hold and and let out a shuddering sob. 

********************************************************************  
_Fall 1968_

“I guess we both lost a bit of our innocence that day,” Virgil stated solemnly.

Logan pressed his hands into the arms of the reading chair and heaved himself to standing without a word. Setting the notebook on his desk, he turned to face his husband who looked as guilty as the day Logan learned who Virgil really was. He leaned down and brushed his lips against his forehead. “We had to grow up eventually.”


	10. The Job Offer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All 13-year-old Logan could remember from that day was the shouting, the searing pain, and then nothing.  
Next thing he knew he was waking up in a stranger's home and they were offering him a job?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Proceed with caution...
> 
> This chapter is a little different. We're jumping way back. Writing child-Logan was an odd but refreshing treat. We have zero regrets. As always, this is co-written by artssoon_symphony and myself.
> 
> TW: Injury/blood mention, implied major character injury, vomit, food mention, cursing, forced medical drug use and mention, excessive use of italics for the vast majority of this chapter.

_Winter 1918- The Anx Steel Mill Floor_

_“Get that damn thing off of him!”_

_“I’m trying! It- It won’t budge!”_

_“It’s too hot to handle. Step back. STEP BACK, YOU HEAR?!”_

_“Matthews, Harris, get the back end. Jarik, Anderson, with me. Steady boys, HEAVE!”_

_\---_

_“The boy. Get him off the floor NOW”_

_“Sir, he needs a doctor. His arm--”_

_“Now, Harris!”_

_“Yessir. Where to, sir?”_

_“Do I look like I have time for this. Get him OUT OF MY FACTORY OR YOU’RE NEXT!”_

_\---_

_“--hey… Hey, kid. Damn it. KID?! Please be breathing, please be breathing.”_

_…_

_“Alright… Ooooh boy, that’s a lot of blood. Can you walk? Of course you can’t walk. OK, on three I’m going to pick you up. Alright? On three… One… two… two and a half… damn what am I even doing… THREE. WOAH! You’re way lighter than I expected under all those clothes. Alright. Alright. Hospital. You need a doctor. DRIVER, county hospital and STEP ON IT.”_

_\---_

_“Brother, what in the absolute hell were you thinking bringing him HERE?! He needs a hospital--”_

_“Remus, I TRIED the hospital. They wouldn’t take him.”_

_“Wh- Oh damn it all, never mind that. Get him inside before he bleeds out in the foyer. PATTON! We could use a hand here, pops!”_

_\---_

_Gentle fingers carded through his hair, carefully loosening soot-stained knots. Soft terry cloth, soaked in scented water, brushed his forehead. The faint, muffled sound of humming reached his ears, smooth and rich like honey. His head felt as though it were swathed in heavy sheets of lead and his ears stuffed with cotton. His body leaden. A dull, passive ache pulsed under every inch of skin, just under the surface. Everything was dark, but he could feel the sun on his cheeks. He was all at once warm yet so very cold._

_The humming stopped when he moved his head a fraction, searching for the sound. Heavy eyelids drifted open and blurred shapes and bright colors took form. When the fog began to clear, the forms around him remained hazy, but he knew he was somewhere strange. That wasn’t his mother’s voice. This wasn’t his bed. This wasn’t home. _

_Where was his mother? Where was he? Where had he been last? His heart pounded painfully in his weary chest. He couldn’t move. _

_“Shhhh. It’s alright now, sugar. It’s alright. Don’t move, you hear me?”_

_A warm hand cupped his cheek. That voice, so soft and melodic, was tinged with the weight of worry and exhaustion. He wanted to see this person, this stranger combing his unwashed hair with his fingers. He needed to see where he was and why he couldn’t move. Why couldn’t he move?! _

_“Sweetpea, you must be frightened, wakin’ up in an unfamiliar place. Here now, let me get those glasses. Not bein’ able to see certainly ain’t helpin’ matters.”_

_The cool metal of his frames brushed his temples as the strange yet steady hands slipped his glasses into place. He screwed his eyes shut until he saw stars and when he felt the hands pull away he opened them again. Crisp lines and vibrant colors to shape and left him dizzy. This wasn’t home. He needed to know where he was and why in God’s name he could not move._

_“There,” the voice cooed, “much better. Glad to see you finally comin’ ‘round. You gave us a real fright, sweetpea.”_

_He opened his mouth to speak but a sound not unlike course sand under the tires of the foreman’s automobile bubbled up from his impossibly dry throat. The toads at the pond he took his siblings to sounded more angelic than whatever pitiful croak he managed to squeeze out of his windpipe. He felt his frustration and fear rise and tears burn his glassy eyes. He needed to move. He needed to ask where he was. He needed his mother!_

_“Hon. Hon! Please lie still. Can’t have those wounds openin’ back up. Remus’ll have a right fit. Are you trying to talk? Silly Patton, of course you are. Hold tight, I’ve got just the thing. Now, I’m just goin’ ta tilt your head up an inch. Alright, good. Now, don’t drink too quick now. Nice and slow. Good… Slowly now.”_

_The cold water raced down his throat. It burned. He wanted more. “--lease.. m’r pl-ease.” It didn’t sound like his voice. He marveled at how distant it sounded to his own ears. He wasn’t even sure he was the one who said it._

_“What’s that, sugar? More water? You must be thirstier than minnow on dry land. Alright, just a bit more. Hold on, not too fast now.”_

_It burned a little less. He felt his chest loosen. The feeling returned to his tongue. He had so many questions and didn’t know where to start. _

_“Uh umm… Where… am I?”_

_The man seated at his bedside smiled. It was the kind of smile that reminded him of baked apples, sweet and warm. The sunlight caught his glasses as he leaned down to continue running his fingers through his matted red curls. _

_“You don’t remember a thing, do you…” The man let his mouth close and his eyes drift out the window before returning to him. There was that smile again. “There was… an accident. The master of this estate found you and brought you here when the hospital refused to take you. Turnin’ away an injured child? I swear people wouldn’t remember what common decency was if it walked up and slapped them clean in the face. Oh but that’s beside the point. To answer your question, Master Roman brought you here to our home to have Master Remus give you a good once over and a right mess you were. But nothin’ to fret over, hon. The man’s a competent doctor and patched you up the best he could.”_

_He was hurt. How did he get hurt? Where was he before? And why can’t he move?_

_“Careful now. Look, you… you were in a bad way when you were brought here. Honestly you would have been better off in a hospital, but here we are. And thank God for Remus. The man’s an eccentric, but he would never leave a wounded child behind. He’s a good man. Both of them are. Point is--”_

_“Patton, if you talk his ear off he’ll never get the rest he needs.” This new voice was deep, but humored, as if he had just heard the world’s greatest joke. “Glad to see our patient is awake. How’s he fairing, nurse?”_

_The man in the glasses turned in his seat and playfully swatted the hand that rested on his shoulder. “Call me nurse again and you’ll be needin’ one.”_

_“Now that’s no way to speak to your employer!”_

_“And that’s no way to act in front of a child.”_

_The stranger stepped into view as he hovered over him, strong fingers gently wrapping around his bandaged wrist. He rested two fingertips just below his palm and hummed, checking the pocket watch in his other hand. The man gave him a smirk, mustache tilting slightly up. He looked like one of those cartoons he had seen in the newspaper. _

_“Not too shabby for just having woken up, kid,” the man said, placing his aching arm back down to rest on the white linen sheet. “You had us pretty worried there. It’s not everyday I get a housecall in my own home. Leave it to my bleeding-heart brother to bring home a stray.”_

_The man laughed as the man in the glasses slapped his arm. “Remus! Manners!”_

_“Right, sorry sorry.” The man with the mustache put up his hands in mock defeat and perched on the edge of the bed. “See here, I like to know the names of my patients before I get to work, but seeing as we didn’t have the chance to exchange pleasantries, let’s go ahead and get acquainted. I’m Dr. Remus Sanders and these are my sheets you were bleeding all over. So, you got a name, kid?”_

_He felt his head swim. This man hardly seemed like a doctor. He was rude and looked like one of those villains that tied ladies in pretty dresses to train tracks. He looked over to the man in the glasses who only smiled when their eyes met. He shifted his gaze to the doctor sitting next to him._

_“Logan. I am Logan… What happened to me?”_

_The man in the glasses turned as white as the sheet on his bed and looked away. The doctor dragged his hand over his eyes and stifled a pained sigh. “Kid- Logan- I’m not going to beat around the bush. You got in a nasty accident. What in the hell you were doing working heavy machinery is beyond me. You can always leave it to the Anxs to get people into all sorts of trouble. My brother found you left for dead and brought you here, which was frankly a risky move. I did what I could to repair the damage to your right arm. Truly, I did. I could have done more but I was limited without...”_

_Logan looked down at the man sitting by his knees to find his face buried in his hands and the man in the glasses placing a hand on his shoulder. “You saved the boy’s life, Remus.”_

_Suddenly the image of seared skin flashed in his foggy mind with white hot clarity. Crushing pain surged through his body. It felt like his arm was being torn to shreds. A cry clawed its way up his throat. He felt strong hands on his skin as his vision narrowed. The clinking of glass bottles and a sharp command broke through the buzzing in his ears. He thought he could hear his name. He was scared._

_A sharp prick and a heavy chill crept under his skin. His head clouded and his eyes closed. The last thing he heard was the voice as smooth and sweet as honey telling him to sleep. _

_\-----_

_Foggy voices made way to Logan’s ears, but his eyes refused to open. _

_“Roman, what the hell are we supposed to do with him?”_

_“I don’t know! Don’t you feel horrible for him? Look at the condition he’s in. You can see more than just his ribs for certain; and that arm, if we don’t take care of it then it’ll be amputated!” _

_“He’s not our problem. I don’t do charity. I’ve already done more than enough for him!” _

_“Remus, have a heart!”_

_“Roman, if I take every little kid off of the street, then we will be out of money before the year is over! Start thinking with your brain and less with your heart!” _

_“That’s enough outta the both of you! This poor boy is in worlds of pain, and his momma hasn’t even shown up yet. Now, I think I have an idea that might work for….”_

_….._

_………..._

_\---_

_“--and look at your pretty red curls, and oh--! Are you up?” Rich, molasses-colored eyes focused on Logan. The man looked nice and clean, hair slicked back in an awkward way that looked a little strange. He pressed a small rose onto the mattress next to Logan. His eyes lit up at the sight of the child. “Hello, sweety. Do you remember me? Of course you don’t. What am I thinking. I am Roman! Remus told me to give you your medicine when you wake up! Can you open your mouth me please?” _

_Logan felt his jaw open, but he didn’t remember trying to move it. He couldn’t feel it well, but his tongue felt just a little less swollen as something bitter coated the surface. _

_“Poor thing, do you know where your mother is? Your father maybe?” _

_“Papa is probably at the pub.” _

_“Wh-what?” _

_“He is gone. I don’t know where he is.”_

_“Oh no, I’m so sorry. Here, what about your mother? Surely she’s been looking for you. Oop, Logan please don’t close your eyes. Try to stay awake--”_

_……_

_\---_

_Logan woke up with a start. “MAM! MAM!!!” He struggled and kicked, choking on his own vomit and screaming. The burning flesh. The amputated finger on the floor. Men screaming. The smell of sweat. _

_His head hurt. _

_His head burned. _

_He felt that delicate hand thread through his hair once again. “Remus! Roman! Get over here NOW!” _

_He felt two hands sit him upright while a cloth dabbed at his face and chest. He took in large gasps of air. Something warm and putrid made its way down his chin and chest, but it was quickly being wiped up by the cloth. “Oh shit, fucking hell, shit--” the villainous looking doctor cursed, fumbling with some medications near him. His hands settled on a bottle and Logan cried as fingers pried his mouth open and shoved two chalky pills down his throat. “OW-- Patton he bit me!” _

_“You’re scarin’ him!” _

_He continued to scream and cry, but his eyes felt heavy and his body felt like lead. Perhaps it would be better to go back to sleep…._

_\----_

_Logan woke up to a cool cloth dabbing his face. His head hurt less, and the second the metal frames were pushed on his face he could see once again. He was face to face with a rosy-faced person, the one with the sweet voice and gentle hands. As he spoke, his beard bobbed up and down, and there was a small ripple through his generous belly as he laughed. “Oh good honey, you’re not screamin’ this time!” _

_Logan simply blinked. His throat felt all sorts of scratchy, so he was sure that he did scream at some point, but he didn’t seem to remember doing so. _

_“Do you remember what I told you, hon?” _

_Logan slowly shook his head, unable to rid himself of the numbness that traveled down his body. He didn’t like it; his insides felt like cotton. It was better than burning. Anything was better than the burning. If it was a choice between pain and feeling nothing, Logan settled on feeling nothing. _

_“Do you remember my name?” _

_“I do not….” Logan whispered, unable to look him in the eyes. He should remember; his mam would be disappointed in him. Everything was still a haze. Time was a foreign concept. All he could be certain of up to this point was painful, itching skin under the bandages and this strange man that was decidedly not his mother. His chest tightened suddenly. “My mam…. My job!” Logan cried, quickly going to sit upright. His legs locked in place, and two firm arms curled around him in the most gentle manner possible before dragging him back up on the sofa he was resting on. He gagged as his head spun and his throat burned. Moving made the pain come back; he preferred the numbness. _

_“None of that for you now!” his caretaker cried. He looked him over with bloodshot eyes and a warm, paternal smile. “Patton. I’m Patton, remember? And we’ve been tryin’ like the dickens to find your mom to let he know her boy is safe and sound. We could sure use your help with that. Come on, first, we gotta get some food in your gut. I’m sure you’re starving! Let good ol’ Patton take care of you!” _

_Logan felt his stomach rumble. He was hungry, but he couldn’t remember a time in his life in which he wasn’t starving, but he had enough pride to not need pity-filled handouts from strangers. “No thank you, sir, I can feed m’self…” he whispered. Patton sat back in his seat and inspected the boy, tapping his cheek._

_“I’m sure you can, darlin’. But you’re in no fit state to argue. I’ll have the masters’ keep an eye on you while I rustle up something warm.” Logan felt his cheeks warm at the sudden protest from his stomach, loud and indignant. Patton chuckled and patted the boy’s stomach gently. “Sounds like your tum agrees with me!”_

_Hazy images came back to his head; an evil doctor with a mustache and another man that looked like him but kinder and… louder. The one with the mustache though… he’s been in and out of his room a lot since he got here. Almost every time he woke up, that man was hovering nearby. “Your...that man was here…. I remember that.”_

_“Man?” Patton asked, looking around the room. “Do you mean Remus?” _

_“Yes, I mean him.” Logan shifted uncomfortably._

_Patton smiled. “Well that’s dandy! I’m glad you’re gettin’ your memory back! Now about that food--”_

_“I’ve got no money!” Logan cried, coughing at the sudden attempt to yell. _

_“That doesn’t matter right now, hon. Now, what do you usually eat?” _

_Tears of frustration fell down Logan’s face. “Stop! Yer gonna get me in trouble again. Last time this happened I--” Logan groaned in frustration and gripped his head with his uninjured arm, tugging at his long ginger curls. A fresh image of his irate foreman yelling at him for accepting food from another worker’s lunch filled his head. He tried to finish his thought, but all he managed to say was, “Before I knowed it, I was workin’ for a whole week!”_

_Patton gently took Logan’s hand in his own, stroking the boy's small hand with his thumb. “I won’t do that to you darlin’. Here, I’ll make ya somethin’ simple! Does that sound good?” _

_Logan sniffled and slowly nodded. There was no point in fighting the man anyway. And he didn’t seem like the kind to yell._

_“Patton? Is he awake?” a man asked, dipping his head in the room. It was that nice looking one. He studied Logan with large, curious brown eyes. “Actually awake this time, no screaming and crying?” He stepped toward the sofa with caution._

_“It looks like he’s well and dandy!” Patton chirped. “I’m goin’ to get some soup for him. We have to get some meat on that skinny frame of his! Don’t try to drag him around now. He still isn’t able to walk. His poor tiny body just sputtered like an old car engine with how many drugs he was on!” _

_“He is quite thin….” the man mumbled, sitting next to Logan. The child refused to make eye contact with him; his head was hung in shame and his eyes continued to burn holes into the floor. “Hey, I don’t bite. Do you remember me? My name is Roman, and you’re Logan, right?’_

_“I am.” the boy answered, eyes shy and watery. _

_Roman smiled as the nice man entered the room again. Patton grabbed Logan’s chin and gently tilted his head up. Logan focused on the man’s warm honey-brown eyes. He tried to remain scared, but the eyes only showed nothing but nice things. Kindness. That’s what he saw. Logan watched as the man grabbed a spoon from the bowl and slowly approached the boy’s mouth. “Open up, pumpkin!” _

_He didn’t want to, but whatever was in the bowl was so enticing. Logan found himself opening his mouth and gulping the warm broth down with ease. Rich flavor washed over his tongue and coated his throat. He didn’t realize he was practically drooling until he tried to reach for the bowl with his good arm without permission. Hot shame crept onto his face. He tucked his hand into his lap and looked away. His mother never would have allowed him to take food from someone else! _

_The man simply chuckled. “I figured you’d be hungry!” _

_“Just don’t feed him too much.” a cold voice cautioned; Logan recognized it as that strange looking man. “He’s not used to eating rich food, or any food for that matter. If he throws up, I refuse to clean it up.” Even though his remark was harsh, his face softened as he stared into Logan’s giant wobbly eyes. Something about children always spoke to him, even if he despised the little creatures. “Now, a little food shouldn’t hurt, but be careful with him, Patton.” _

_“I know darn well how to feed someone, Remus!” Patton cried, watching Logan as he slowly ate another spoonful and wiped the child’s cheek. “The poor thing, he’s drooling.” Logan bristled at the observation. He didn’t drool like some baby! He was practically a man! A grown-up! That, though, didn’t stop him from opening his mouth to accept another spoonful. _

_“Of course he is. He smells good food and that causes the body to subconsciously create saliva to digest it, even if he isn’t eating much. It happens to everyone.” _

_“Nerd,” Roman teased. _

_Remus rolled his eyes. Any insult he tried to throw got lost in his throat. There was a child staring at him, and as much as an inconvenience he was, Remus truly did want to take care of him. Damn those giant eyes. “Now, about you working here.” _

_The statement came out of nowhere, like a bolt out of the blue. It wasn’t even a question. It certainly didn’t sound like it was up for debate. Logan’s face morphed into confusion, but before he could speak Remus shushed him. _

_“Don’t interrupt, kid. It’s unprofessional.”_

_Logan slowly nodded, eyeing the frightening man cautiously. _

_“Frankly, you serve no use to me.” _

_“Remus,” Patton warned. Logan gulped, the man’s once sugary eyes turned cold, giving the scary man a protective glare. “Be nice with him.”_

_Remus shook his head. “I am stating facts. Look at him! He threw up on himself, fuck--”_

_“Language!” _

_Remus growled out of impatience. He shouldn’t be so mad in front of a child, but the constant sleepless nights started to get to him. The dark circles under his eyes only seemed to grow darker as the day went on. “I’ve done enough for him! What am I thinking, trying to offer him a job. The only thing he could possibly useful for is testing the food for poison!” _

_“Remus!” Roman hissed. _

_“Maybe he could help us hide the bodies.” _

_“REMUS!” Roman fumed, ears red. _

_Logan’s heart hammered. Truthfully, he was only registering half of the words through his haze, and the yelling didn’t make much sense to him. Poison? Bodies? Those were all in his old job description. He did have another arm, and two legs at that; surely, he could keep going with his three only appendages. He could go until he broke himself. Tears streamed down his face as the two men fought. They were red faced now, screaming nothing but insults and arguments. _

_The bearded man separated the two. “None of that, you’re makin’ him cry!” _

_Remus opened his mouth to respond but quickly closed it. A moment of weakness showed. “Right…”_

_“He could arrange flowers.” Roman suggested gently. _

_Remus opened his mouth for a snarky comment, but thought better of it as Patton kicked him in the leg. “I suppose he could try the normal, not poisoned food.” he sighed, his once cold guys turning gentle and understanding. “And clean, I suppose. You can clean with one arm.”_

_“Good,” Patton said, going to sit back next to Logan. “Now the two of you go. I’m going to explain to him what he’ll be doin’ ‘round here.”_

_Roman and Remus both were ready to protest, but Patton glared at him with his signature icy look. Unsurprisingly, the two left in a hurry. “Now hon--”_

_Patton was interrupted by a wave of tears. “I-I-I don’t wanna eat p-poison--!” _

_Patton quickly pulled the sobbing boy in for a hug, careful of his arm. “Oh hon, I know. Remus was just bein’ a bully. He was up a lot of hours worryin’ about you, didn’t get much sleep either! He’s just a little cranky.” He wiped away a tear from Logan’s cheek. “Now where’s that smile? I haven’t seen it at all! A smile looks good on everyone you know.”_

_Logan felt his mouth twitch, but he couldn’t make a smile come to his face. He only continued to cry. _

_“Oh, pumpkin, come on. Here, this’ll cheer you right up! We’re goin’ to offer a job, a real job! You won’t be tastin’ no poison or hidin’ bodies. You’ll just be cleanin’, picking things up for me, makin’ the place look nice. Surely you can do all of that? We’ll pay you, and then you can bring that home to your momma. No more than once a week. Maybe twice if you’re up for it. It’s up to you, darlin’.” _

_A small smile creeped on Logan's face. He was good at cleaning. He could pick things up. He could make the place look nice. _

_"Good! There it is. You're a good looking boy with that there smile!" _

_\--------_

_“You take care now, sweetpea. Is that sling secure enough? It won’t come undone on the way home, right?” Normally sunny-faced Patton looked down on the young boy with knitted brows, busying himself with adjusting the cotton sling over Logan’s shoulder. His fretting was quickly becoming tiresome to Remus who only wanted to get on the road. He tapped his foot impatiently as Patton tugged the threadbare collar of Logan’s sweater tighter around his bony form. “You have everything, hon?” Logan nodded tightly, watching Remus from the corner of his eye. _

_Roman moved to clap the boy on the shoulder but thought better of it. The last thing that scrawny thing needed was more pain. “Don’t mind the sourpuss over there,” he said, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his slacks. “He’s just sore about losing his favorite patient.” Remus scoffed. The cartoonish doctor leaned into the door with his hand hovering over the knob. His neatly waxed mustache twitched in annoyance which only egged his brother on._

_“Oh, the dear doc has spent the last three days practically in hysterics over you,” Roman announced loudly, putting his hand to his forehead like a distressed damsel. “He’s barely slept, eaten, or antagonized the house staff since you appeared in our lives.”_

_“And whose fault is that, hm?” Remus kicked himself to standing, the sickly green undertone of his dark winter suit catching the morning sun. He plastered a sly grin on his face and crossed his arms. Taking one long stride towards the boy who clutched Patton’s wrist with his good hand out of uncertainty, Remus leaned down and inspected Logan far too closely. Patton wrapped a protective arm around Logan and pulled him close. _

_“No need to scare the boy!” Patton warned._

_“Can’t a doctor admire his handy work?” Remus asked in flirtatious tone that caused Logan to press himself closer to Patton watching Remus’ every move carefully. “You certainly caused me quite a bit of trouble, kid. But hey, did a pretty damn good job sewing you back together like a battered old doll.”_

_“Remus!”_

_Remus held his hand up and smiled at Patton who bristled like a mother cat protecting her kitten from the hungry wolf. “I’m simply saying, don’t go pulling at the threads, kid. Can’t be having you come undone all over again, now can we?”_

_Logan swallowed hard and shook his head. _

_“Good.” Remus flashed a genuine smile that only left Logan all the more confused. The man scared him. Terrified him. But his mother always said even the most frightening monsters had a heart. He reasoned that if this madcap doctor not only gave him a bed in his own home and treated his injuries, even offered him work, perhaps he could be trusted. He just found it hard to believe he could be even remotely related to the regal Mister Roman._

_Patton knelt down, lowering himself just below eye level with Logan, resting his calloused hands on the boy’s slender shoulders. His smile was warm but his knitted brows betrayed the worry in his gut. “Sweetpea, I need you to promise me you won’t go back to that mill, you hear? You have work here whenever you need it. Goodness knows I could use another pair of hands keeping these two goons in line!”_

_“Hey!” Roman whined, drawing a reserved chuckle from Logan._

_“There now, that’s the smile I love so dearly. Now promise me, hon. Promise that won’t go back to that awful place.”_

_Logan shifted uncomfortably under Patton’s insistent gaze. “I… I suppose I could come back here from time to time. To help. But I will… I will need to go back eventually.”_

_“Wrong answer, kid.” Logan whirled around to see Remus standing next to his brother. They really were twins when standing side by side. So similar but so wildly different, even down to the way they stood. Roman kept his back straight and his chin high, bold and certain. Remus though always seemed to be at a perpetual angle, tilting dangerously from one step to the next. Remus twisted the tip of his mustache between his fingers, eyeing Logan. _

_“I believe what my brother means,” Roman began, “is that there is nothing the Anx Company can provide that we can’t. Just humor us, Logan. We would all feel better knowing you were safe. Remus in particular. He only offered you the job so he could keep an eye on you--there is no need to kick me Remus.”_

_Remus lowered his foot from Roman’s shin. “Stop your fussing then. Come on, kid. You’re mom must beside herself. Patton, you’re going to have to let go of him eventually.”_

_Patton glared at Remus and pulled the boy into one more gentle hug, careful to avoid his tender and swollen arm. “You take care, honey,” he said sweetly into Logan’s ear. Patton pulled back and pushed himself to standing. “OH! Hold on there a moment!” Patton turned on his heel and dashed down the hall._

_“Oh for Pete’s sake we don’t have time for this,” Remus said impatiently, tapping his foot. A moment later, the cook reappeared with a cloth-wrapped parcel that smelled of warm yeast. He beamed, cheeks rosy with pride. _

_ “Fixed you a little something to take home to your family. Don’t let that whiley doctor sneak any on the way there.” Logan clutched the warm parcel of bread to his chest with his good arm, smiling up at Patton like a boy who knew no greater joy than a loaf of freshly baked bread. _

_“Alright, alright. Clock’s ticking, kid. Let’s hit the road. I do have other patients to see other than you, ya know.”_

_“You’re going to drive him?” Roman asked warily. “What about the driver?”_

_“He’s gotta thing in town. Didn’t ask. Come on, I’ll get ya there in one piece.” With that, he gently guided Logan out the door with a hand at his back. Logan looked back once more at a tearful Patton waving as they made their way down the gravel footpath. He would very much like to come back._

_\---_

_The ride was quiet. Remus merely stared straight ahead, while Logan watched him out of the corner of his eye. The doctor seemed uncharacteristically quiet. From the way his lip twitched from time to time, it seemed he had something on his mind. Pulling up to an intersection, Remus turned to the kid next to him. Logan whipped his head away to which Remus only smirked._

_They drove on, working their way into the less desirable boroughs of the inner city. Dilapidated buildings eventually replaced the impressive brownstones of the ritzier corners of town. Remus chewed his bottom lip. These were the directions the kid gave him. He seemed like a scrappy little thing, but he never assumed anyone actually lived in places like these. He watched men and boys alike trudge to the nearby factories, his own included, marching headlong into danger like so many rusty tin soldiers wound tight and walking ever forward. He suddenly understood that Logan was one of them and soon enough he too would be making that march again unless he did anything to stop it. “Damn it,” he muttered under his breath._

_His brother was right. He cared about the lost puppy beaten within an inch of his life and tucked safely into the passenger seat. It was no wonder the life expectancy for his lot was so low. He realized rather quickly that he didn’t want to take the boy home; he wanted to keep him close. “Damn it, damn it, damn it.”_

_“Doctor?”_

_Remus swivelled his head quickly towards Logan and looked back at the road ahead. “Nothing, kid. You sure I’m headed in the right direction?”_

_“Mmhmm.”_

_“You’re gonna have to speak up, kid.”_

_“Oh, y-yes, sir. Up ahead on the corner. The wood building there.”  
Remus eased the car to a stop and tugged hard on the break. Logan exhaled loudly as if he had been holding it for the whole ride._

_“What, you thought I’d crash us or something?”_

_Logan shook his head fervently. “No! Just… never been in a car before… well, I guess I have… with your brother, but I don’t remember that and…”_

_“Look, you’re going to have to talk louder and clearer if you want to work for me.”_

_“Yes sir,” Logan choked out, straightening his back which only caused him to wince in pain. His arm was a mess, certainly, but the cracked ribs and bruised back were no help either. Logan opened his mouth to thank him when a petite woman with a shock of red hair pulled into a loose braid and a moth-eaten shawl around her shoulders came tottering out the front door of the building. Logan’s eyes took on a sudden light Remus hadn’t seen from the timid little thing. _

_“My word what is all this noise-- Logan, is that you, child?! Logan! My baby, you’re safe! My baby, oh, my dear baby! Where have you been? I’ve been praying you weren’t taken by the mob or injured or--” Logan was primed to vault out of his seat, but Remus placed a firm hand on his chest._

_“Hold on there. I know you’re happy to be home, but no need to bust yourself open again flying out of the car.” Remus stepped out of the driver’s side and rounded the front towards Logan’s side. Leaning in, the doctor gently hoisted the boy down onto the pavement. Logan’s mother looked on with alarm._

_“Logan, who is this man? And sweet boy, what in heaven’s name happened to your arm?!” She stepped forward and wrapped protective arms around her son, pulling him close. Two other children peeked their heads out of the door, both scared and shy. One of the children gasped as Remus made eye contact with him, and quickly pulled his sister back inside the house. _

_“Mam, this is Dr. Remus. He fixed me up all good. And Patton made you this,” Logan announced proudly, handing his mother the loaf of bread. Remus couldn’t help by find the rapid succession of emotions crossing the woman’s face only mildly amusing. In a second she was at once mortified at seeing her battered son with some rich elite in a fancy car, relieved that he was alive, thankful for the gift, and entirely befuddled by the entire situation. _

_“Ma’am,” Remus began, stepping forward, offering his hand to her, which she debated taking at all, “Dr. Remus Sanders, at your service. I had the… pleasure of treating your son.”_

_“Treating him?” she asked, looking down with immense worry at Logan nestled in her arm._

_“Yes, well, let’s just say he had a tussle with a hunk of machinery and the machine won by a landslide. He should be alright with enough rest. And don’t forget this.” Remus fished a brown glass bottle from his pocket. “Pain reliever. It’s a syrup so don’t take too much, got it? One tablespoon twice a day. Come see me if you need more.”_

_“Oh my. How… how can I thank you? I don’t have much money, but I should pay you for your services,” Logan’s mother said with a growing frenzy, nervous at the prospect of owing money to such an intimidating man._

_Remus held up his hand and smiled warmly, almost a carbon copy of Roman if it weren’t for the mustache. “No need, ma’am. On the house. Just make sure he heals up properly before striking out into the workforce again.”_

_Logan pouted and his mother demurred at the comment. “I know he’s still young. What kind of mother am I to make him work? Oh you must think I’m a monster.” Logan attempted to square his shoulders but bit back a whimper of pain._

_“I’m not a child, ma! I can work! I can!”_

_“Logan, my child, I’m sorry. Mister Remus, please don’t judge us. I can’t work much you see--”_

_“I don’t judge. You’ve got a strong lad there. You take care, kid. Ma’am.” Remus turned on his heel and got back into the automobile. The engine started with a roar and off he went without another word. _

********************************

_Late-Fall 1968_

Logan hadn’t thought of those days in years. It was one of those memories that mercifully faded to the musty, cob-webbed corner of his mind long before everything else started to go. All this digging through mental archives, scouring decades of bygone eras for scraps of moments to drag back into the light had an unfortunate side-effect. Those moments he worked for years to bury and forget were dredged up with the rest, latching on for dear life. 

As much as Logan wished to relegate that awful day to the rubbish bin, doomed to be forgotten once and for all, he knew he couldn’t. The memories, jumbled and confusing, were as much a part of him as the scars that marred his skin. If he couldn’t ignore them, he’ll just have to face them.

Logan stood in front of the bathroom mirror, leaning in close with his shaving blade poised over his lathered cheek. Slow and methodical passes left his aging face smooth, not a knick in site. He rinsed his face in warm water and patted a mint-scented oil on his cheeks. Taking a step back from the mirror, his eyes rested on the bare skin of his chest. The pale, freckled skin of his shoulder faded into a network of silvery scars, spidering their way down his arm. His fingers brushed the surface of the skin, causing him to wince.

But not in pain. Snatches of voices echoed in his mind. They pulled at his attention, clambering and needy. 

“Roman, what the hell are we supposed to do with him?”

The man who found a boy, bloodied and staring down his own grave, in the arms of his brother.

“I don’t know! Don’t you feel horrible for him? Look at the condition he’s in…”

The man who didn’t care about the angry red stains on his designer suit as he carried the boy into his own home.

“There now, sweetpea. You’ll be alright…”

The man who had the voice of warm honey and steady, gentle hands.

So many conflicting tones. The memories clashed, some shouting to be noticed, others just above a whisper. It was too much. Too much. Too mu—

Soft lips brushed the nape of Logan’s neck, pulling him free from the torrent of his thoughts. Warm hands wrapped around his shoulders pulled him back into his husband’s chest. “Hey there, handsome. Everything alright in here?”

Virgil wrapped his arms around Logan’s chest. He could feel his husband’s heartbeat against his back. Logan drew in a deep breath and relaxed into the hold, resting his hands on Virgil’s. “I’m quite alright, I promise.”

Logan never quite understood how impeccable that man’s timing was. He was always there to pull him back from the edge with nothing more than a single touch, a word, a look. It frightened him at times how much he had come to depend on him to keep him grounded.

Virgil hummed in response and loosened his hold as Logan turned to face him. A warm smile settled on his lips as he studied Virgil’s face. Pale skin, dark eyes, delicate chin. These are the things he wanted to focus on. The man who somehow, against all odds, found him and loved him. “Stunning.”

“What?” Virgil quirked an eyebrow. “You’re clearly having an episode. Now put a shirt on already.” Before he could turn away to hide the creeping blush, Logan cupped his chin and kissed him sweetly. 

“Now I know you’re definitely having an episode,” he said with a smirk, rolling his eyes. Logan only chuckled in response, planting one last peck to Virgil’s nose before turning on his heel, leaving his befuddled husband in his wake.


	11. History Repeats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Tis the season for merry-making.  
Weeks have passed since that day in the garden when the truth about Logan's injury came to light, putting into question their tenuous budding relationship. Virgil fears Logan no longer wants anything to do with him while Logan tires of seeking him out to rekindle what they had. Patton and D are running out of patience and options. They're going to have to make amends if their plan is to work or history is doomed to repeat itself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! We apologize for the long delay. It was a frightfully busy season, but now we're back on track!  
As always, this was lovingly co-written by Symph (artssoon_symphony on IG/LaBassoon on Wattpad) and myself (the_many_worlds_traveller on IG/the-many-worlds-traveller on Tumblr).
> 
> TW: Drinking and alcohol mention, food mention, strong language, memory loss, dissociation, implied homophobia

_Early-Winter 1968_

“And how is it we wound up being invited to this event?” Logan straightened his navy tie in the bathroom mirror, silver pinstripes catching the light. It wasn’t so much the idea of a gathering that bothered him. It was the holiday season, Christmas just days away, and lavish parties were simply a part of the season he learned to tolerate thanks in no part to his former masters’ insatiable appetite for making a scene around society. 

He and “his kind” were largely accepted by neighbors and acquaintances, but these parties still invited unwarranted stares and hushed comments that were biting regardless of how thick his skin had become. And the last thing he wanted was for his dear partner to have to experience more of such common bias during what should be a time of kindness and acceptance. But still, he couldn’t help but puzzle over the fact that Virgil of all people accepted an invitation to one particularly festive event that would otherwise not be to his liking. It was illogical, but Virgil seemed eager to attend and who was he to refuse him?

His eyes shifted to his husband beside him who seemed entirely engrossed in combing his hair into place. He couldn’t help but smile at the slight scrunch in Virgil’s nose as he focused on one particularly unruly lock that kept falling over his eye. Logan reached over and brushed the hair from Virgil’s face which seemed to finally get his attention. “Was that supposed to help?” Virgil asked teasingly, leaning into the mirror to poke the lock of hair with his comb. Eventually satisfied, he leaned back to properly evaluate his work. Logan turned to shrug a worn slate-colored blazer that had clearly seen better days. “Do not tell me you’re wearing that.”

“You’re sounding more like Roman by the day,” Logan chuckled dryly. “And what could possibly be wrong with this? It has served as an appropriate garment for numerous occasions in the past.” Logan inspected the sleeves, picking at invisible specks of lint, baffled by Virgil’s question.

“For one,” Virgil began, tugging at a moth-eaten hole in the back near the bottom hem, “There’s a hole… make that two. Secondly, you look like you’re headed to a meeting of tired old men, not a Christmas party. And thirdly…” Virgil took his husband by the shoulders and whirled him around until they were nose to nose. Drawing close, letting his eyes drift close, Virgil’s lips grazed Logan’s, stopping a hair short with a wicked smirk, “if you ever compare me to that drama queen again, consider yourself a single man.”

“You could not possibly mean that,” Logan returned, jokingly taken aback by such a preposterous threat. Once upon a time, he would have been worried that this finicky feline of a man was entirely serious. Many years and countless false-alarms has left Logan largely unphased by Virgil’s sharp tongue. With the sly quirk of his lip that always accompanied his sharp yet loving teasing, Logan knew for certain he wasn’t going anywhere. “And I’ll have you know, I am a tired old man.” 

Virgil sauntered into the bedroom and slipped into a handsome black blazer, tailored immaculately to fit his lithe frame. A hint of a purple pocket square peaked out from his breast pocket which was the perfect subtle punctuation to the ensemble. The lavender shirtsleeves underneath offered a certain softness that made Logan’s heart beat a tick faster. Buttoned up to the top to allow for a tie, Virgil pulled at his collar with a grimace. Undoing the top button, he rolled his head with relief. He was never one for fashion conventions. What good was a tie except to look like a square with a crushed windpipe. 

“Now, what will you have me wear instead--” Logan began, struggling to wrangle the old jacket from his shoulders only to stop in his tracks. His heart kicked up another notch as his eyes trailed the delicate lines of Virgil’s neck. “Stunning. Simply...”

Virgil stifled a passive laugh, rolling his eyes. “My eyes are up here, mister.”

Logan feigned a cough and turned away for a short second. Together for decades and he was still hopelessly enamoured by the man inside and out. Boy, he was still as fetching as he was forty years ago. That was an image he hoped to never forget. He suddenly realized he never stopped staring. 

“R-right, apologies! Let’s see, that blue sweater you gave me last year should suffice. Or perhaps, a tweed jacket? Is that too informal? No, the sweater will do fi--” Logan’s frantic redirection was cut short with a kiss. When he caught his breath and his sputtering mind got with the program, Virgil was already stepping into the closet, reaching for a jewel-toned jacket in bright cobalt blue. Before he could protest, Virgil began to slip it over Logan’s arms. He stepped around to face his befuddled husband, gently tugging the lapels into place with a smile.

“There, now I won’t be embarrassed to be seen with you.”

“Virgil, this is a little…loud for my tastes.”

“It’s a party, Lo. You could stand to make a little noise for once.”

\---

It was quite the soiree, though it was nothing compared to the gilded social events of the 20’s. An impressive assortment of merry-makers from around town ambled from table to table, enjoying the warm atmosphere and easy conversation. Hosted by old friends, some of the first to welcome an openly gay couple to the neighborhood back in the 40’s, George and Stella spared no detail to make their home relentlessly welcoming and bright. It was always shockingly easy to feel like one of the crowd when George and Stella lured you in with a peck on the cheek and a warm handshake.

With wine glass in hand, Logan watched as Virgil engaged himself with friends and acquaintances. Logan couldn’t help but feel fare more at ease to see his husband so comfortable. What he saw was a far cry from his youth when he wouldn’t be caught dead talking to anyone, opting instead to beat a hasty retreat to a quiet corner away from the fray. With age came a certain maturity that seemed to suit Virgil well. People and their endless noise-making were no longer his enemy, though when given a choice he would prefer a quieter setting. If anything he was enjoying the company enough to ignore what normally made him itch for peace and quiet.

Logan sipped at his red wine, leaning back into a table along the wall in an effort to appear nonchalant as he watched his husband’s feline smile and listened for his dry, curt laugh above the din. He could feel the wall of noise, the music and the voices, build and bare down on him. He took a steady breath and focused on Virgil floating through the crowd with ease. He flinched as a gentle hand rested on his sleeve.

“Now now, Logan, dear. Why so gloomy? It’s a party, not a wake!” Stella chirped, practically glittering in her red satin cocktail dress. She wrapped her perfectly manicured fingers around his elbow and pulled him into the noise he was trying to ignore. He could feel the pressure build behind his eyes and fought the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose, keeping his expression tight but even. “Alright, what will it be, dear? We’re gonna need something stronger than wine to get mister serious to loosen up! How about one of George’s cocktails, hm? He calls it ‘The Mistletoe’ for some reason or another. It’s so goshdarned sour, it’s bound to make you pucker up-- OH! Well, there ya go! Isn’t that terribly clever of him, Logan?”

“Quite clever, yes,” Logan replied with a tight nod, eyes darting through the crowd. He had lost sight of Virgil. 

Stella rounded in front of him and ran a bright red fingernail over his jacket’s lapel. “This is quite a look! Simply dashing and utterly smashing, if you ask me. And out of character! I’ll take a wild guess and say Virgil picked this out for you. Your man has good taste!”

Logan nodded again. He couldn’t decide if the music was getting louder or if it was Stella. Virgil was nowhere to be seen. An old, familiar ache filled his chest. Standing, looking, hoping to spot him, a certain aristocrat’s son. Time and time again, party after party. Nothing. Where was Virgil? Why wasn’t he here? He couldn’t spend another mindless gathering alone with his thoughts. It had been weeks. Where was he? Where was Virgil? Why hasn’t he come yet? Had he moved on and forgotten about him? It was his fault. Of course it was. He would never see that odd young man again.

“--gan. Logan? Logan, dear? What’s the matter? Here, let’s sit you down.” Gentle hands guided him to an egregiously orange sofa. The music and laughter was filling his skull to the brim, the edges of his vision blurring. He scanned the room and saw a woman in red scurry into the crowd calling a name. His thoughts were rapidly clouding and the noise took on a tinny ring. He couldn’t place where he was or how he got there. He couldn’t recall how the glass of wine wound up in his hand, but that didn’t stop him from downing what was left inside. He looked about, trying to grasp what was happening. And then he saw him.

Virgil hurried out of the crowd with Stella quick on his heels, his brows were knitted in worry. “I don’t know what happened. One moment we were talking about the drinks and the next he just… checked out. He looked awfully pale. I wasn’t sure what to do. Is he okay? Does he need to lay down? He could use the guest room. Oh, water. He could use some water!”

“Stella,” Virgil cut in sharply, “thank you, but I think we’re okay for now. Thanks for grabbing me.” He let his voice soften with great effort to calm his frenzied host. “Get back to your party. I’ll take things from here.”

Stella paused with pursed lips, unsure of her next move. She watched Virgil settle next to his husband, placing a hand on his knee and whispering into his ear. She smiled at her dear friends and returned to tend to her other guests, but never ventured too far. 

“Lo. Hey, you alright over here? You nearly gave Stella an aneurysm. I didn’t think she could talk any faster.”

Logan shook his head and sighed. “Yes… yes, I’m fine, Virgil. I apologize for worrying you. I…” Logan’s thought trailed off as Virgil took his hand, drawing his thumb over weathered knuckles. “I looked for you.”

“What? Sheesh, I ducked into the kitchen to chat with George. Now who’s the drama queen?”

Logan bit back a sad chuckle. Virgil took the empty wine glass from Logan’s hand and set it on a nearby table before settling back into the sofa. Sitting in comfortable silence, they watched the ebb of the party, guests swaying to the music. Normally, by this point, Logan would have cut in with some non sequitur statement to break the lull, but he was coming up blank. The ringing in his ears was only just beginning to recede. Moments like that, of unsettling disorientation, were becoming more frequent than Logan cared to admit. He couldn’t even hold it together long enough to get through one damned party. The infuriating deterioration of his mind, the one tool he thought he could depend on, was slowly becoming as unreliable and unpredictable as the rest of him.

“Do you remember,” a soft voice began, cutting clean through his thoughts, “that one Christmas party back in, oh um, ‘25 or ‘26? At my family’s old place?” Virgil rested his head on Logan’s shoulder with an arm gently wound around his. He could feel Logan’s muscles tense for a moment and release with a reluctant sigh.

“I’m… not certain.”

Virgil hummed and nestled his cheek into the soft fabric of the cobalt jacket. “Ouch, Lo.”  
Visible frustration settled on Logan’s face; Virgil could see him wince from the start of tears in his eyes.

“Oh, I’m kidding, I’m kidding, don’t get your tie in a twist,” he quietly teased. Virgil looked on at the party unfolding before them. No one seemed to mind the old couple enjoying a quiet moment alone. “It was a pretty flashy affair. Leave it to D to throw a party full of rich swells, ply them with drinks, and sweet talk ‘em into business deals no sober man would have agreed to. One hell of a Christmas shindig if you ask me.” Virgil paused and studied Logan’s features. His eyes had drifted closed, but he knew that meant he was searching through his eroding memories. “Well, I’m ashamed to admit I messed up pretty badly, but D wouldn’t let me skip out on this party knowing full well you would be there. He made damn sure I had no out, the bastard. And there you were... I...should have never run away. From you. From us. Honestly, I wasn’t sure you would want anything to do with me. But I think…”

“You think?”

Virgil looked up and smiled fondly at his husband, the man he has loved for decades despite it all. “I think I was able to make it up to you.” 

“Is that so…?”

“I’m still here, aren’t I?”

“So you are.”

************************************************************************

_Early-winter 1925_

D studied Virgil with a concerned expression. He didn’t show sympathy often, but when he did, he became almost obsessed. His normal snarky and sardonic cousin was becoming a shell of himself. After one particularly bad fight with his father, he went out for a walk. A long one. D wasn’t an idiot; he could put two and two together. Virgil must have been sneaking out to see that dreaded red head he met at that party. The darkling didn’t have a secret lady, and he especially didn’t have friends. The only thing that was odd was that he didn’t come back happy. Normally his lavender adorned family member would come home plastered in dirt, a large smile permanent on his face until another fight ensued. 

“What has gotten you all grummy?" D asked, taking his usual place next to Virgil for breakfast. He always ate with his cousin, usually to make sure that when the boy’s mother and father came that he held his tongue. However, the two weren’t here, so it was a good time for Virgil to fess up to his feelings. 

“Nothing, I am fine.” Virgil poked his food with his fork. 

“Don’t lie to me. I am the master of deception and double talk! I’ve known you since you were a baby and I’m afraid I am able to see through your lies.”

“Falsehood.” 

“Is that a phrase you picked up from your ginger friend?” 

Virgil shot up from the table, nearly knocking down his glass in the process. The sudden change in mood caused D to let out a startled cry as he caught the drink in his hand before it spilled on the clean white tablecloth. 

“Sit down, you’re making a mess!” D demanded. “I figured out the problem, now talk to me. You always do this, run away and cower, and you know it gets you into trouble later.” 

“No, I am leaving.” 

“Stop with the theatrics. You surely didn’t think I wouldn’t find out about this eventually. What happened with him?” 

“Nothing,”

“You’ve been doing nothing but cry! You aren’t eating, you aren’t sleeping, and you’re not even arguing with your father anymore. You’ve lost your spark, Virge. I’m starting to get worried.” 

“And you’re concerned because…?” Virgil eyes his cousin with suspicion. D only sighed and pat the seat Virgil so unceremoniously threw himself from. If they were going to have this talk, he preferred it to at least be civilized.

“I’m the only family you’ve got that gives a hoot about you, dear cousin of mine! Naturally, I’d like for everything to be in your best interest.”

Virgil rolled his eyes. “Oh yeah, and you’re just the best cousin anyone could ask for.” He raised a hand and began counting off fingers. “Taking my place as head of the factory, sucking up to father’s demands, claiming inheritance to the family fortune. And if we’re talking about secrets, I’m sure you have a history with Roman and Remus’s chef. In fact, let’s talk about that instead! What’s your beef with, oh what’s his name, _Patton_?”

“We’re talking you, not me,” D growled. Heat rose to his cheeks, but he swallowed his anger for another time. Lashing out- that’s what his cousin always did. Even though he was becoming a young gentleman, or so he hoped, Virgil never learned how to communicate or work through his issues. Given his upbringing, he was hardly given the chance. His own parents were hardly beacons of healthy communication. “And it is not my fault you run from your responsibilities. You’re even running from your problem now!” This was Virgil’s defense mechanism; fight or flight. Right now he was choosing to fight. D couldn’t give into his petty behavior, it was what his cousin wanted.

“You didn’t answer my question.” 

“Well, you haven’t answered any of mine!” D pinched the bridge of his nose in utter exasperation, catching himself before his temper flared beyond control. Virgil shrugged and began leaving the room. 

“Stop running away from your troubles!” But Virgil didn’t listen, and left the room red faced. D slumped back in his chair and stared up at the ceiling. “You’ll regret it….” D mumbled, pulling a small baby blue gem from his pocket, fingers tracing it’s edges softened with time. It was a reminder, and it looked like he was going to have to speak to the person who gave it to him later. He had to get this ginger situation handled. The last thing he wanted was for history to repeat itself. His first order of business was to find that boy.

D sighed, standing up from the table. There was one place Virgil went every week; the only time Virgil ever seemed to be happy when coming back home. He’d often return with rosy cheeks and new scrapes and bruises, most likely from being an idiot. “To the market….” he decided, grabbing a coat from his room. It’s too damn cold for this nonsense. 

\---

Patton watched the clock closely from his stool in the kitchen. On a Wednesday round about noon, a certain valet would peak his head in and present an open palm for the list of groceries and an empty basket. It happened like clockwork for weeks. Logan would set out to market at 12:10 with a light step and a smile teasing his generally dour face. Hours later, the young man would return with a laden basket and flushed cheeks. On one or two occasions, Patton swore he saw little flowers or colorful leaves tucked behind his ear. He never asked where he had been or let it slip that he knew about his chaste little rendezvous with his unusual gothic friend. It’s not as though the chef followed him to market one day to take a gander for himself. Certainly not…

Frankly, these meet-ups made him nervous. Patton knew full well who that boy was and everything his family represented. The Anx name brought nothing but trouble. But Virgil seemed different. He always seemed to be dodging his family’s shadow, cautiously looking over his shoulder like a nervous cat. And he couldn’t deny the effect the strange young man had on Logan. It was clear Virgil had reignited that small youthful spark that went dim so many years ago. This budding friendship was what he needed to recover from a life of loss and grief. But that was a thought Patton chose not to dwell on.

Logan seemed happy. That’s what was important. 

Patton was content to let sleeping dogs lie until that afternoon he came home after having snuck out. “I’m his problem now” Logan repeated over and over again, eyes full of tears and shivering as if cold to his very core. No warm hug or kind word seemed to break him from this trance for days. He had warned the twins to refrain from their usual shenanigans and give Logan space until he was ready to talk. But days turned into weeks and the boy barely said a word, merely going about his work steely-mannered and hauntingly empty.

Patton had seen enough.

The clock struck noon. No footsteps sounded from the hall, no coy remarks about simply running errands, nothing. Patton let out a puff of air and slapped his palms to his knees, popping to his feet. Remus was making back to back house calls and Roman was visiting the factory to meet with investors meaning he would not need to prepare lunch for anyone but the house staff which was already on the table.

Patton wandered out into the hall, listening for any sign of life. The service passages were deserted. Up through back staircase, through the corridor, and around a corner he found himself in the staff wing of the estate. The quarters were abandoned for the day as everyone went about their duties. A chill settled over Patton as he passed an open window, likely left cracked open by a forgetful maid who only wanted to chase away the stale air inside. Turning back, Patton pressed the window closed, but let his gaze linger over the view of the gardens, brown and grey from the early-winter frost. 

Patton had seen that odd young aristocrat's son sneak onto the grounds one morning just a few weeks ago. Watching him from his bedroom window, surveying the tree closest to Logan’s room and scramble up with little grace, he couldn’t help but smile at the awkward and ungainly gesture. It was sweet and utterly endearing and it certainly beat having rocks thrown at his window by a certain Anx boy when he was a young buck. The fool nearly broke a window pane! Virgil was truly different in so many ways.

Or so he hoped.

Logan’s door was near the end of the hall. The twins had given him a room with a rather pretty view when he first began living under their roof, not far from his own quarters. Patton gave the door a gentle knock and listened for any response. Normally, if Logan wasn’t hard at work, he would be ensconced in an old chair in the library or tucked comfortably in his room, book in hand, wiling away his precious free hours in a story or technical manual. Quiet. Patton tried the door once more before resolving to try his luck in the library. As he turned away, the knob turned from inside and the door opened only a fraction.

“Yes?” Patton shuddered at the crisp edge of his tone. Not wanting to lose his chance to get the boy to talk, he brightened his smile and stepped forward, but the door didn’t widen.

“Oh, perfect! I was hopin’ to catch you! It’s nearly time to head down to market, wouldn’t ya say? I’ve got quite a list here with your name on it!”

Logan lowered his gaze, studying his sock-clad feet intently. For a moment, it seemed he would open his mouth to speak, but he only clenched his jaw.

“Sweetpea, you’re gonna have to come out and talk to me some time,” Patton urged, placing a hand on the doorframe, slowly inching the door open. “I don’t want to pry, but boy, oh boy you’re more buttoned up than a priest on a Sunday mornin’. Now, some fresh, bracin’ winter air will do you good. I’ll just go gather a coat and scarf and--”

“I’m not going,” Logan cut in.

“And why ever not? You’ve never skipped a week and I‘m startin’ to worry.”

Logan’s eyes seemed to peer right through Patton at nothing in particular. Patton reached for his cheek only to have his hand limply pressed away. His paternal instincts where thrumming in his chest. He could feel Logan growing more distant by the day and he too was growing more desperate in turn.

“Please talk to me, hon.” Patton took in a steady breath and met Logan’s eyes. “This is about that boy, isn’t it? Virgil?”

Logan’s chest hitched. He made a clumsy attempt to step back and close the door, shutting Patton and more importantly, reality, out of his safe haven. In his room, curtains drawn tight, he wouldn’t be forced to face a reality where his first real friend was really no friend at all. Patton’s firm hands shot out, one stopping the door, the other grasping the young man’s arm, his bad arm. Patton flinched and reared back when he saw the alarm in Logan’s face. Tears sprang to the young man’s eyes, but he quickly swallowed his tears and ripped his arm from Patton’s hand. 

“Sweetpea, oh goodness, I’m sorry. Truly, I am.” Patton paused, searching Logan’s bewildered expression. “But this silent treatment you’ve been servin’ me has gone on for weeks,” he forged on. “I’m no springtime babe, honeybee. I can tell when somethin’s eatin’ at you from a mile away. And I’m guessin’ by your expression I hit the mark square on. Don’t think I haven’t noticed the last few Wednesday trips have been quite a bit shorter than normal. And don’t get me started on the masters! Roman has been sulkin’ something fierce over your behavior. And Remus? Well, he’s plenty concerned in his own way. Logan? Logan are you even listening?”

Logan’s eyes shifted to Patton’s and gave a curt nod. “Yes, I heard you.” Patton bit his lip. He didn’t blame Logan for feeling a little foggy, but he normally listened intently to every word the cook said, even down the frivolous details and metaphors. Logan absorbed any and all information around him. This seeming absent-mindedness only added to the father figure’s concerns. 

_Don’t pry, don’t push. He needs your help, Patton. Be gentle._ He took a deep breath. “Good,” Patton said, placing his hands on his hips, tone sharp. “Now, tell me plain what’s goin’ on and I’ll leave you be.”

Logan looked away, digging fingers into the sleeve of his right arm, wincing at the dull pain. “It’s nothing. It’s not about...him. I just do not feel like going out today,” he said through a tightly set jaw. His fingers pressed deeper into his arm as he spoke, hand shaking and tight. Patton hardly bought his excuse, but clearly pressing the issue was getting him nowhere fast.

Patton sighed and looked the young man up and down: slumped shoulders, disheveled hair, time-worn shirt-sleeves, and a haggard face. It wasn’t a pretty sight, and quite out of character for the normally uptight and well-pressed ginger. Roman would have a right fit at the sight of him, let alone at the thought of him being seen in public in such a state of disarray.

“Fine, I hear you loud and clear, hon. I’ll be back in an hour,” Patton said, turning to walk back down the hall, fighting every urge to pull his charge into hug so loving he would not soon forget it. Halfway down the hall, he heard the door creak open behind him.

“Where are you going?” Logan called out.

Patton stopped and turned back with a smile. “To market, of course!”

Logan looked like he was going to say something, but bit his lip and remained silent. Even as Patton left, he could feel the desperate eyes of the valet burning into his back. He knew Logan wanted to talk, wanted help and a way to handle his situation. He just needed time. 

However, Patton wasn’t a fan of waiting. 

\---

Patton pulled the woolen scarf tighter over his chin. He had Southern blood in him through and through and goodness knows he will never get used to the cold. The walk to the market in question was brisk but hardly a hike. Any other time of the year, it was a pleasant jaunt from the estate, but in the first throws of winter, he quickly regretted not taking the driver’s offer to give him a lift. He needed time to clear his head and focus on the task at hand. He wasn’t there for produce; the ice box was full for the week.

He was keeping a sharp eye out for a certain young noble. Rather gloomy with eyes that drooped like a sad hound’s, shorter than Logan yet taller than Patton himself even with his perpetually slumped shoulders; this was the person he was looking for. 

D on the other hand was looking for someone else. He had only seen the man once or twice, but knew about how Logan looked: skinny frame, an oddly stern look in his eye at odds with the wild mess of curly red hair and freckles that consumed his face. 

What the two didn't expect was to run into each other. 

Patton immediately scowled and moved to step around him. "I'm too busy to deal with you." 

"Ah, Patton, dear, how are you?" 

A deep, churlish sound escaped his chest as he walked on, focusing his vision on the street ahead. He nearly yelped as D grabbed his hand. "Don’t you dare touch me. I still promise to do what I said at dinner, you slimy, two faced, heart breakin', good for nothin' bastard!" 

"That’s quite a mouthful coming from someone who swears not to swear.” D plastered on his most charming smirk that was entirely lost on Patton who was too caught up in his own righteous fury to be swayed. D sighed and took a step back. "Look, I know, but hear me out," he pleaded. "It’s just my good fortune that I ran into you, threats of maiming my mug aside. Ya see, It's about my cousin." 

Patton's temper cautiously abated. "Virgil?" he asked, his stance softening just a bit. "Because I was just lookin' up, down, and sideways for him." 

“As was I,” D nodded. "Well, I was looking for your servant." 

"_Friend._" 

"Right, sure," D studied his nails. "I'm getting worried about Virgil. I think he got in a fight with your little ginger boy and I want to snap him out of his little pity party. He’s causing me nothing but grief like this. I think he misses his friend." 

"Well, If you're so smart then I think you'd realize they're more than just friends." 

"Huh," D breathed, not entirely sure how to respond. "Then maybe we should stay out of it." 

Patton's face went red in an instant. "I am NOT havin' this discussion with you. You may be a coward, but these boys aren't and I'm not either!" The last of his tenuous patience for the man had slipped away and he was entirely resolved to drop the conversation and walk away. 

D reached for his hand again, but drew back for fear of his own wellbeing. It was a safe bet, D assumed, that his threats were far from empty. Instead he stepped back and dropped his eyes to the concrete between his feet. He couldn’t bare to revisit this conversation but it needed to be done. He needed to protect Virgil. "Patton, you know they can't be together." 

"They CAN." 

D sighed and raised his eyes, trying to hold Patton’s contemptuous gaze. "Listen sunflower, they'll--" 

"Don't you dare fuckin’ call me 'sunflower'. You’ve no goddammed right to call me anythin’ at all." 

"Force of habit, I apologise." His stomach churned as he spoke. Patton was still painfully sensitive; the chef already had tears furiously running down his cherry red complexion. He found this childish grudge exhausting at best. At one time it was a game to see how he could ruffle those feathers of his, but this was no time for games.

D bit the inside of his cheek. He could make light of Patton’s rampant emotions as much as he wanted, putting all the blame on him for being so damned naive, but it was his own fault. He made Patton this way: bitter, repressed, unable to trust again. If Virgil didn't get back together with Logan, he knew his gloomy cousin would be the same way. Even if they could just be friends, Virgil's mood would be greatly improved. D hated being wrong more than he hated being lied to. If he was going to fix this, all of this, he would have to be the one to bury the hatchet. "...No, you're right, we need to get them back in each other's company, but how will we do that?" 

Patton let out a puff of foggy air, mustering some control over his turbulent feelings. If D was willing to cooperate, the boys perhaps stood a chance. “We need to get them to meet somehow.” 

D searched his hands as if they held the answer. _It shouldn’t be this hard_, he thought. His eyes wandered over the stores that lined the market square. Windows strung with bright tinsel and blood red holly gave him an idea. It just needed to be executed perfectly. 

“A party! I am throwing a winter party at my family’s estate. Remus and Roman drag that boy around everywhere if I’m not mistaken, so I am more than certain he will be forced to attend. Unless I’m wrong?” 

Patton pondered the idea, tapping his cheek in concentration. “It could work. It’s just a matter of gettin’ him out the dang door. Masters Roman and Remus have both dragged him to events these last few weeks, but he only came home all the more withdrawn. He stopped goin’ all together in the last week and has barely left his room since. Gettin’ him out now will be a chore.”  
“I trust that blustery Roman Sanders will coax him out without much issue.” Patton puffed his cheeks at the jab towards his employer but kept his temper reigned in. This was the first bit of progress he had to hang his hat on in weeks.

“And how are ya gonna get Virgil to come?” Patton asked. “I can tell you and that boy don’t have the best relationship; he makes sure he can give you a nasty look every chance he gets whenever I amble up from the kitchen and take a gander for myself. Knowing you, you’ll spook him if ya give away our little plan.” 

“It’ll be held at our estate. Locked doors and locked windows; he will not have an escape… save for his own room of course, but I’m sure I could convince a maid to stand guard,” D assured. “Besides, a host cannot leave his own party. it is inappropriate… And his momma would have a right fit.” 

“Virgil never pegged me as a rule followin’ type from what I’ve gleaned from Logan. He tries his darnedest to be the strangest boy possible. Why, just a few weeks ago he was climbing up the tree to see Logan at his window. It was something right out of a fairytale!” Patton chuckled. “Oh, and I saw Logan sneakin’ in a kite some months back. I’m sure that’s the first time my boy has ever touched one!” 

D’s eyes softened as he smiled. “Remember when I snuck into your room at night?” 

“You nearly broke your neck!” Patton cried, laughing as they spoke. “You better be thankin’ God that a certain someone saw you and caught your hand before you took a swan dive into the ground. Not to mention, that someone even made ya coffee after you trespassed!” 

“You left your shirt at my house!” D hissed, a tiny smile still on his face. “You should be thanking God that I didn’t leave it there for a maid or my uncle to find!” 

Patton lightly pushed D away, laughing. People were looking at them now. Patton just beamed, but his look of joy quickly drained away as D took a rather large step away from him. As Patton’s mirth died down, so did the attention. “Now why did you have to do that?” Patton asked. “We were just joking in good fun. Who cares if we got a bit loud, and who cares if people were lookin'? We can’t even share a hearty laugh about the good ol’ days? Do I really embarrass you that much?... Or are you just afraid?” 

“Patton….” 

“No, don’t talk.” Patton sighed, turning away. “Send the invitation to Roman and Remus.” 

“Patton--” 

“I’ll suggest they take Logan.”

D grabbed Patton’s arm. “Sunflower, we need to talk about this at some point.” 

“You won’t even laugh with me in public, how do you think we're going to have a heart to heart, huh?” Patton spat. “And I said it before, do NOT call me sunflower! Now, I have some shopping to do, and if you’re a smart man, you’ll go back to your business as well!” 

\---

Logan’s bleary eyes lit up as Patton pushed the service door in. The wind had picked up during his walk home, leaving him windswept and rather bedraggled from the leaves being wicked off the trees. 

“Patton, welcome back,” Logan called as he trailed at Patton’s feet, walking along with his father figure. He still looked a mess, but Patton had to admit that the boy tried to clean himself up a just a smidge after their conversation. If nothing else it was a relief to see him out of his room. “I cleaned your oven while you were gone. Well, I tried in any event. Took more effort than I thought. It’s so gross in there, I don’t know how you survive with that much grease.” 

Patton continued walking wordlessly. 

“What is the matter? You’re not talking… which is… odd?” 

“Hmm?” Patton turned around, watery-eyed. “Nothing, pumpkin. I’m just tired.” 

“You’re lying to me!” he announced.

“I’m not. I’ll be fine. Can you put these in the kitchen for me, hon?” Patton handed Logan a bundle of groceries they didn’t really need. He just wanted an excuse to get some distance from D, who offered to carry his purchases but was met with a sneer. Now Logan was dogging his heels. 

Logan’s face scrunched up in confusion. “You’re trying to get rid of me. I may be in an… uncomfortable state, but I can still listen to what’s hurting you,” the ginger insisted. 

“I’ll be right as rain in a shake. I just need...” his voice trailed off. He didn’t know what he needed. 

“Patton--” 

Patton gave Logan a weak hug, eyes cast over his dear boy’s shoulder. “I just need a nap, sugar pea; let me rest.” 

Logan pursed his lips. “Whatever you say….” 

Paton gave Logan a paltry smile before trudging silently to his room. He practically fell onto his mattress, kicking off his shoes in a rough and hasty manner hardly befitting the chef of a classy estate. He pulled a small drawing from his bedside drawer: an image of two twin snakes curled around each other on faded Anx company letterhead. A tear fell onto the artwork, smudging another black line in the sketch like so many other tears before. “If I keep crying on ya, you’ll be nothin’ but a blob.” Patton mumbled. “You think this beard would catch ‘em by now.” 

In trying to make himself laugh, he only lost his composure more. 

“Why did you leave me there….” he croaked, careful not damage that old remnant of something he’ll never have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More 20's slang is being utilized, so if there is a word you don't recognize, let me know!


	12. Facing Fears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surely this party cannot be a good idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!!! Boy, are we sorry about the hiatus! It feels nice to be back to it.  
As always, go support my co-writer, Artssoon_Symphony on IG and Wattpad (LaBassoon). You can find me on IG and Tumblr under the same name.
> 
> Be aware: Food and unhealthy alcohol consumption mention, cursing

_Early-Winter 1925- The Anx Estate_

Virgil felt heat rise to his face as he slammed the door shut behind him. "You bastard!!" he yelled, approaching D on what was looking to be a collision course. "This was your little idea wasn't it!?" 

D rolled his eyes. "Be careful with your tongue, you could hurt my sensitive little heart." He put his hands on Virgil's shoulders. "And do not walk with such anger in your stride; it is simply unattractive." The snake-like man only grinned as Virgil's face turned redder. "As for the party your father told you about, of course it was my idea! I'm bored. Well, that’s an understatement. I’m simply _dying_ from lack of excitement. I want a party with lots of people, and possibly a bearcat of a lady to shake a leg with!" Dazzling copper brown eyes met his cousin's. "Wouldn't you like a woman as well?" 

Virgil's cheeks somehow managed to darken beyond what D thought possible for such a pale mazzard. He knew he would never want a woman, not ever since he saw two of the butlers kissing when he was just a lad. Not to mention the gardener that worked every day in their garden before he got fired for being distracted by the nature. _Oh that red haired gardener_, Virgil used to ponder. _Whatever became of him?_

A lump caught in Virgil's throat. D only chuckled in that smooth way he does to comfort his next target. "See? You're clearly looking for love. Perhaps, you will find it at the party. Now, come help me plan. We need food, drinks, guest list, entertainment--" 

"I refuse to help you," Virgil stated, his tone flat and biting. "I do not want a party. When would I EVER want a party?!" 

"Well, you can't always get what you want, not in the real world anyway." D chided, already pulling out a leather bound notebook from his inner jacket pocket. The tip of his tongue flicked over the tip of the pen he seemed to conjure out of thin air "You're going to have to grow up eventually." 

"I _hate_ grown ups." 

"Virgil, you _are_ one." 

The words hit him harder than the ground when he fell out of that tree and on top of poor Logan. D was right, even if he was still young, he was an adult, even if the very idea fed into that ever-deepening pool of self-loathing in the pit of his stomach. “Well, yeah, sure, I guess if we’re talking age…”

"Look who finally started to see some sense! Now, I know you don't get along with your father, but you could learn a thing or two from him: be professional, act polite, take risks--" 

"Enslave people, hit your wife when you think no one is looking, only care about your riches--" 

D's eyes narrowed. "We need the positives, Virgil; I'm saying stop running from things that are hard. This behavior isn’t fair to others. Think of your friend. How do you think he’s feeling with your blatant avoidance of him? Oh, and don’t try to pretend you don’t have a relationship with him, just answer my question with no objections." 

“No, it isn’t fair to him. He’s probably confused… and angry… with me.” 

“So, let us work on your difficult coping mechanisms. First, let’s plan a party. It is simple, and once you have your guests drinking enough of the giggle water, you can leave and enjoy the quiet. The only catch is that you are, under no circumstances, permitted to leave the estate during the event. I have contacts with the metro police if you don’t think I wouldn’t go so far as to post guards. I hear their guns are rather impressive.”

“What the hell, D!”

“Oh come off it, Virgey. Now, let’s get started, shall we. Details. Planning the perfect party is all about the details. Let’s begin with… music?”

Virgil's eyes studied his blank sheet of paper. "... We're having a jazz band playing. I can't stand any more of your classical nonsense." 

"Good," D smiled at Virgil and continued to plan. Maybe he can impress his surprise guest.

\---

_One week later- The Sander’s Estate_

Something about the day felt wrong from the start. Logan slept about as well as he could with the cold weather setting in. On particularly drafty nights, his arm would lock up in his sleep leaving him wide awake, sore and unsettled. That night was no different. The winter wind tore past his window and the cold settled deep into his bones, gnawing at his muscles, and disrupting his sleep yet again. His eyes snapped open, pain radiating from his shoulder and a crick seizing his neck. He struggled to sit up with one good arm, wary of putting any weight on his right hand.

The sky was still mottled and dark outside his window. Sunrise was still hours away at best. He could try to read, giving this E. M. Forster novel another go, but that would involve reaching his left arm over his right to turn on his bedside lamp with the pain protesting angrily up his arm into his neck. Too much effort. 

Logan sighed deep and loud, letting the sound reach his ears. Even his own breathing sounded empty, hollow. Another sleepless night, kept company only by his breath, his pain, and his thoughts. He let his head fall back against the headboard of his bed, wincing at the creaking in his bones. He took a deep breath and took a moment to let the pain pass. Remus taught him that years before- as a boy he would be easily overwhelmed by the injury, still fresh and healing at an agonizing crawl. The strange doctor instructed him to focus on the pain and direct his breathing there. He thought it absolutely cooky at first, but he had to admit it worked. The man was smarter than he was scary… to a point at least.

His breathing leveled out as his eyes adjusted to the dark, tracing the lines in the cracks in the ceiling. Logan slowly rolled his head to the side, letting his vision fall on the book he plucked out of the library. Howard’s End was rather dry, but he couldn’t help but be taken in by the dynamic between the upper and lower classes. He felt a pang of guilt rise in his chest everytime he picked up the story again. He was lucky. Once toiling in grime and poverty, he found himself ensconced comfortably in the home of an aristocratic family with little worry over his livelihood. Granted, he lost everything to get to this place, but here he was nonetheless. 

What truly nipped at his feeling of guilt was that he was in fact worried. It was such a small issue that would be an incredible extravagance and so beyond the grasp of anyone in his former position in the world. He felt guilty because he was dreading this day. In a matter of hours his masters would truss him like a gilded turkey and haul him off to yet another party and goodness knows he has had his fill. He gave up his futile search for Virgil and saw little point to go, even if he had a choice. Certainly he could feign some imaginary illness, but nothing got past hawk-eyed Remus. 

And then he thought of his siblings, gone to dust with his mother. Oh, how they would have loved this. His little sister would shriek in utter delight at the idea of being surrounded by beautiful dresses and crystal chandeliers, twirling on the tips of patten shoes and hair done up in ribbons. His little brother would stare agock at the tables of seemingly endless feasts, delirious from the smells. Logan is living a life his family could never imagine because they hardly knew it existed. He should be grateful. 

But this life, the society done up in diamonds and tailored suits and placed high on a pedestal, was never for him. He polished the silver spoon. To eat from it seemed like a sin. 

Logan was grateful for his station, for benevolent, though eccentric, masters, and for a father figure that loved him unconditionally. He would do anything for them if only to repay the debt. He would go to these parties, dressed to the nines at the behest of Roman and Remus because he was their valet and it was an order. 

But he would be an idiot if he didn’t admit this arrangement left him wanting. 

Logan reached across his lap and took the book in his left hand, placing it square in his lap. He closed his eyes and let the weight of it redirect his focus. Fingers lightly traced the spine, brushing fingertips over the embossed lettering that glittered in a faint gold against the worn red cover in daylight but barely registered in the gloom. He focused his mind on the characters and their shortcomings, quickly falling in and out of love and battling the currents of Edwardian society. The impoverished and the empowered. The paupers and the well to do. The lucky ones, though he couldn’t quite discern who were actually so “lucky”.

His mind ambled across pages read nights before as the minutes ticked by. It was only a matter of time before a face formed in the literary fog. Picturesque English country manors populated by dignified elites were replaced by a gaunt, pale face with a sly little smirk, feathery brows peeking out from hair so straight and soft. Eyes that told of endless mischief and deep-seated exhaustion. 

He could almost smell the lavender.

Logan’s chest tightened and his eyes screwed shut until he saw spots dance across the lids. Another night of old-money swells mingling with the new. Another night looking. Another night alone. And drunk. Alone and drunk. What a somber thought. He couldn’t help but let out a dry laugh at his own pity. 

He wasn’t sure how many more of those nights he could take. Sleepless, alone, and drunk.

\---

“Stand still!” Roman barked, fingers tugging at Logan’s hair. “Honestly, it’s as though you have never held a brush in your life, your curly-haired street-mouse!” Logan felt a playful tap of the wooden brush against the crown of his head. He hated that unfortunate nick-name, but it didn’t sound so cutting coming from a voice so dulcet and warm. He felt another quick tap and a small content hum from behind him. Logan resolved to simply settle in for what was becoming another lengthy process knowing full well that fighting it only made it longer.

Roman combed and sprayed and tucked and pinned Logan’s unruly locks. Lips pursed around shiny metal hairpins and shirtsleeves rolled up to give him full range of movement, Master Roman looked every bit the artiste chipping away at fine marble. Nimble fingers worked quickly, but to the poor valet under his hands it felt like hours had passed at an agonizing crawl. 

Logan felt the hands in his hair pause for a beat. “So,” Roman began tentatively, “about this… gathering.”

“Yes, it’s some holiday party isn’t it?” Logan sighed, already prepared for some inane chatter about the who’s who in attendance. The way he saw it, the twins treated every party like a business venture. They go to be seen, size up competitors, and earn sympathy points when the subject of Logan’s upbringing came up (a tactic favored by Roman for working extraordinarily well for winning over the matriarch’s of wealthy families). Bless him for keeping certain unsavory details from the public. If nothing else, Roman made it more about himself than about Logan. The valet never felt as though his story was being used as a means to the masters’ end. Roman was a master at keeping the attention trained on himself, providing his long-suffering valet a modicum of privacy in public settings. 

To Logan, parties were simply a waste of resources and time, time that very well could have been spent reading or at the very least alone in a quiet room away from the stink of cigar smoke and gin. Perhaps the masters could still be convinced to let him stay home and tend to chores. Even scrubbing every single tile in the estate by hand would be a more pleasant experience. At least he wouldn’t be disappointed when a certain skittish cat inevitably wouldn’t show his face yet again. 

“As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted”, Roman said bluntly, “this particular party should be of interest to you. It’s at the home of that odd wisp of a young man you befriended. Now, I had my reservations about bringing you into the home of your old employers bu--”

Logan jerked his head forward, causing Roman to drop the pins in his hand. _Surely he doesn't mean to take me there of all places_, he thought, feeling the ligaments in his arm go taut. He stared his employer in the eyes through the reflection in the mirror. Pleading to stay home was his last-ditch option, but it was looking like he was being left no other choice. Logan swallowed hard.

“Master, with all due respect, I do not feel my attendance would be appropriate in this instance,” Logan said in an even tone that shocked himself for how hard his heart was beating. “They weren’t exactly the most… judicious employers. They might not take kindly to seeing me in their home.” _Virgil… Virgil might not take kindly to it. What a damn mess._

Roman stood to full impressive height and took Logan firmly by the shoulders and sighed. “How long is it going to take for you to just call me Roman, huh?” Logan straightened to respond, but was met with a paternal shush. “I know, I know, I’m your employer. Boundaries, respect, yes we get it. Logan, I’m going to level with you. We’ve been worried about you and I can’t seem to get Papa Pat to spill the beans. You’re acting more skittish than a kitten trapped in a wheel well. I’m going to need you to trust me tonight, alright?”

Logan gave him a single, tight nod and Roman merely smiled and returned to pinning his hair. His head was spinning, tightening his grip on the sides of his seat. The thought of being in that house, _his_ house, left him dizzy. “If you’re truly so worried about seeing your former employer, I will be your valiant knight and protect you from that cur. Can’t say I understand how you came to be friends with his son, but here we are…” Logan tensed again and Roman merely patted his shoulder. The owner of the steel mill that nearly killed him was the last of his concerns; he doubted the man would remember him after so many years. It was his son. It was always his son.

“Well, well, our little book thief cleans up nicely, doesn’t he. Oh don’t give me that look, Lo. Don’t think I don’t know where those holes in my bookshelves come from.” Remus stepped into the dressing room and surveyed Logan’s reflection with a smirk. A fine black top hat was tucked under his arm and the pewter of his cufflinks glinted in the light. “Now, you on the other hand,” he said gesturing to Roman with a crude point, “could use some polishing up.”

Roman reared back and gawked at his brother indignantly. “How dare you! I’ll have you know I am merely ensuring our young pauper here feels every bit the prince before tending to myself.” Turning on his heel, he marched into the lavish walk-in closet, leaving Logan to grapple with the news. He needed an out. Anything.

Logan felt a shiver roll down his spine when Roman returned from the depths of his closet and stood beaming with a particularly garish suit dangling from the hanger in his hand. A swath of sharp cut charcoal colored gabardine with deep plum satin lining mocked him as Roman held it up with pride. It was too much. 

"I'm feeling ill," he sheepishly fibbed, chewing the inside of his cheek. "A stomach ache. A-a headache. I--" He was cut off by steady hands hoisting him up to his feet. He readied himself to protest but was swiftly whirled around to face his captor. “I feel unwell--Augh too tight!” Before his mind caught up, he was already jacketed and buttoned. He felt Roman’s hands slide the starched collar and the soft purple silk tie wind around his neck. It felt instantly claustrophobic. 

“I feel quite dizzy. I think I may have a fever. I should remain here and rest,” Logan pressed not at all convincingly.

Remus, the ever diligent doctor, felt Logan's head and grinned. "Oh, how dramatic you are. You have clearly been spending too much time around my brother. You're perfectly fine!" 

"You have been saying that just prior to the last three soirees. Don’t think I haven’t noticed" Roman added, fussing over the smallest details in Logan's attire. 

"But this time I mean it. I must be excused," Logan insisted. He wasn't telling a complete lie; his stomach hurt, head burned, eyes felt heavy and sore. The worst part was his heart; it felt like it was going to burst out of his ribcage and pumped a searing acid into his throat. "I could certainly collapse and good luck trying to get me back on my feet. I don’t believe I am in any fit shape to attend." 

"Don't collapse _right now_, I'm almost done with your outfit!" Roman cried. "Your hair is next. Well, the rest of it anyway. This mop of yours is an ongoing project." 

Logan's veins turned to ice. There had to be some way he could get out of this. "Please," he begged. How did it come to begging? "I want to stay home." 

Roman was beaming as he put on the finishing touches on what he believed to be his finest masterpiece yet.”Well, don’t you look hotsy-totsy?” Logan fervently disagreed. Every time he thought he couldn’t get more decke out, Roman found a way to add a whole new level of embarrassment to this figurative trainwreck of an evening. "You're going to look so handsome!" he promised, adjusting the bowtie into place, giving it one final tweak. “Now let me get you a pocket square and finish your hair and then--”

It was always the same song and dance preparing for one of these outings. There was a time when he tried to attend every party he possibly could, but as the days turned into weeks, every gathering only ended in a hangover with bitter disappointment stained with alcohol-hazed memories of those nights alone. Every night ending in Remus lecturing him about alcohol abuse, he continued to drink more and more at each party regardless of colorful threats. Perhaps a part of him thought if he continued to misbehave, the twins would stop binging him to parties all together. He no longer wanted the opportunity to see Virgil. He was certain he would just be disappointed by a glare or, worse still, a cold shoulder.

And perhaps, if he was lucky, the sweetwater would dash the rest of his brain cells to hell and wipe his memories clean. Just one blessed night without thinking about him.

"You've been odd lately, Logan," Roman whimpered, cutting clean through his reverie. “A few weeks ago you were desperately throwing yourself at every gathering you could, and now you’re more home-bound than ever.”

"It's got us right worried," Remus added. "We're only trying to help, ya know. I’d be a pisspoor physician if I didn’t notice your health declining. Oh, there you go with that face again.” The doctor leaned in close, observing the severe line his cheekbones that were cutting his freckled face. “When is the last time you ate a full meal that Patton didn’t force you to eat?" 

“I eat,” Logan protested.

Roman laughed. "Tell it to someone who would buy that. And by the by, don’t think we haven’t noticed the waterworks. The moment I ask, your face turns to stone which is downright frightening. It’s like a damn switch."

“I do not cry if that is what you’re trying to sa-” 

"Don’t interrupt,” Remus snapped with a mite more force than he intended. “I’ve found you asleep around the house in the most bizarre places. You know you’re going to have to sleep in a bed eventually. You need to stop overworking yourself. Why don’t you go on breaks anymore? Yes, Patton does tell us these things. What good does that do you, huh?" 

"And you look _terrible_. I mean, really, try to put a little more effort into your appearance. You look like death." Roman earned a kick in the shin from Remus. "Ow! You're the one that pointed it out!" 

Remus shook his head. "Listen Logan, the point is, you can tell us what's going on, even if it seems silly. Maybe then we can help you." 

The parental nagging from Roman was not so unusual, but to see Remus, someone who mainlines lewd innuendo as if it were his lifeforce, so earnest pulled Logan up short. In fact, he had been this way since the morning after that summer party.

Logan felt as though a coarse rope was squeezing closing around his neck, his throat tightened and eyes began to burn. He felt cornered. A gentle hand wiped at his cheek. Logan held his breath when he saw the tip of Roman’s thumb glisten ever so lightly under the vanity lights. "Hey…." Roman cooed, pulling Logan into a hug, unconcerned over wrinkling Logan’s jacket. Remus remained silent and distant as he was never the best at comforting; he was wise enough to leave that to Patton or his sainted nurses. "Hey, it's okay…." Roman tried again, stroking Logan's hair, careful not to catch the pins holding his unruly locks in place. 

"Look, I believe we can strike a compromise. We are men of business after all. I will forego the ‘product helmet’ and hope to all the spirits the pins hold; and if you still feel unwell after an hour, we can leave." 

Remus bent at the hip towards Logan, giving him another once over in that unsettling way he does "I know you never want to go to a party” Remus said in a scrutinizing tone, “but I feel compelled to ask. Is it about the sorry state of your arm? I couldn’t help but notice you looked about ready to run for the hills when Roman brought up where this particular invitation is from. It’s not as though I am normally in the habit of spying from doorways but given the circumstances..." 

“Oh come now, dear brother, we already discussed this topic, right, Lolo? I am to be your knight in shining armor to protect you from those villainous Anx’s!” Remus sighed at his brother who stood valiantly with his chest puffed like a prize winning rooster. 

“Save some of that hot air for the party, you idiot,” Remus goaded. He turned to Logan who only watched the brotherly ribbing with guarded ambivalence. “Now, I’ve hit the nail on the head, haven’t I? We’re sending you straight into the lion’s den.”

Logan’s head swam from all the idioms as he slowly nodded. Remus wasn't wrong. Virgil wouldn't speak to him because of his arm and the Anx’s were the ones that crippled him. It was his arm. It had to be. Logic was his most finely honed tool and it had never failed him. This was clearly the reason. Hot tears flooded his vision and he coughed on the restricting feeling in his throat. He felt another pair of arms wrap around his shoulders. 

"’I don’t cry’ my ass, Logan Sanders. Maybe you need closure with the situation," Remus suggested, pulling away. "After all, I saw you in the company of an Anx quite a while ago at a party. You seemed to enjoy yourself then. Oh, as cheesy as it sounds, the saying 'face your fears' has a bit of truth. Although, there isn’t much you can do to fully cure the psychological trauma, this is one hell of a start." 

Logan's head felt a bit lighter. Clearer. Even if Remus was a bit left of center from what was actually eating at Logan, the doctor still gave good advice. Perhaps he did need closure, even if it just meant showing up to a party, maybe seeing Virgil's face again. "...Do you promise you won't experiment with my hair?" Logan asked. 

"I promise." Roman swore. 

Logan's eyes still burned, his heart still hurt, but he would be lying if he thought he didn’t feel a bit emboldened by his masters’ less than subtle support. "Alright, I'll go."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, our loving old couple will be making their return soon! 
> 
> Dated 20's Slang terms (I'm sure I missed a couple):  
Sweetwater/Giggle Water: Alcohol  
Bearcat: A lively woman  
Mazzard: face (this is actually "Flash" speak from the 1800's but boy is it fun to say)  
Hotsy-Totsy: To look attractive, handsome


	13. No Turning Back- Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's a party without some feeling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part two of the never-ending Party saga! We're getting there, folx, I promise.  
I sincerely miss our old couple, but we will see them again very soon.  
As always, go support my co-author Artssoon_Symphony (IG)/LaBassoon (Wattpad)
> 
> TW: Alcohol consumption and drunkenness mentions, panic attack, rampant illogical emotions.

_Winter 1925- The Anx Estate- Later that evening_

Dour. That was the first word that came to Logan’s mind when the driver pulled up to the imposing stone mansion that loomed over the immaculately manicured garden, barren and spindly in the gloom of the winter evening. Nights had come so early this time of year, bringing with it a sense of quiet dread as the world is draped in mottled hues of gray. And this did nothing to ease his disquiet. A home should feel warm and inviting, but in the dim light of passing headlights of polished automobiles it looked about as welcoming as the castle fortress of a hulking and brazen warlord. Wide oak doors opened to finely-dressed guests linked arm in arm, seeping bright yellow light into the night. Watching silk-draped swells traipse unbothered through the doors only set Logan’s teeth on edge as the auto slowed to a stop on the gravel drive. Roman’s firm gloved hand grasped his shoulder and gave him a none-to-patient nudge.

The winter chill settled deep into his skin and gave a visible shudder as twins ushered their charge inside. Gleaming black marble like a sea of pitch made Logan feel as though he would be swallowed down whole with his first step. When his many-times buffed and re-soled second-hand oxfords hit solid ground with a crisp clack he let out an audible sigh of relief. 

Having braved the front door, he allowed himself to take in the scene. A cavernous entrance of dark stained wood arabesque moulding framed an unnecessarily portentous staircase that tempted guests up its tiled steps with the wisps of festive music that in no way fit the unnerving tone of the house. Logan gripped the intricately carved banister as Roman urged him up step by step. Each click of his heel echoed in his head like the ticking of a clock. He had formed no image in his head of what the home of an Anx would look like. This certainly did not fit Virgil. It was far too big and far too aware of its status. Despite the heat, it was cold, charmless. How anyone called this polished monstrosity home was beyond him.

At the top of the stair, Logan felt the overwhelming urge to reer back from the wall of noise and light pressing in on him from the great hall opening out beyond the ornate gilded doors. 

“And where do you think you’re going, street mouse?” Remus chided in his ear. “We had an agreement, did we not. Thirty minutes. And by my watch you have approximately twenty-eight minutes and thirty seconds left.” Logan’s chest deflated. That trek up the stairs seemed to stretch on for minutes at least. Thirty minutes was going to be a figurative lifetime.

“Come, come! Now this is a party! Those cold-blooded Anxs’ really outdid themselves, right Lolo?” Roman nearly sang, swaying to the smooth lilt of the music as he plucked a cigar from a passing server’s tray. Before Logan could respond with some dry quip he felt a quick tap at the corner of his glasses frames, which his captors… employers allowed him to keep despite Roman’s protest that the wire frames clashed with the suit. Remus had clinked the rim of a champagne flute against his frames, offering it to the poor valet.

“Loosen up, kid. A little fun ain’t gonna kill ya,” Remus said with a knowing smirk. “Let those tresses down and go wild. I won’t tell.” The deranged doctor left Logan with a wink and folded seamlessly into the swelling crowd of merry-makers. 

"This was a terrible idea…." Logan mumbled as he wove his way around bodies gliding around him to what he hoped was the food table. It was a sensible compromise to promise the twins thirty minutes of this headache of an event. Sure, his tie was a touch too tight and the dazzling glare of the chandeliers off of the silver serving trays and crystal glasses made his eyes burn, leaving a spray of dots when he pressed them closed, but he figured things could, in fact, be worse. Stepping quickly around an early-evening boozer chasing a server down for a refill, Logan bumped into a table, though no one paid his stumble any mind.

Everything was too loud. There were too many people. There was too much music. And of course, there was no sign of Virgil. This hardly surprised him. "He skipped his own damn party," Logan cursed under his breath as he sat down as far into a corner as he could manage, tucking his feet well enough under the seat so as to keep from losing a toe to a guest too deep in their cups to consider their surroundings. He didn't feel inclined to socialize on a normal evening and his instinct to escape to a quiet back hall was rising like hackles. Roman eyed him suspiciously as he passed, arm linked with a chatty old bat leading him to a vacant table with wine in hand.

This whole evening had been an unnecessary hassle. What were Roman and Remus thinking, dragging him here of all places? Setting aside for a moment that this was the home of the one person he dared consider a friend, he swore he saw the gray, waxy mug of his former employer wading through the crowd. That was the last face he wanted to see, not that Percival Anx would bother to commit Logan to memory out of hundreds of other employees on his blood-soaked payroll. The feeling of truly not belonging here boxed his ears like the rising swell of the music. 

He craned his head around, letting his gaze follow nameless faces in the crowd. His first novice attempts at making a friend hadn't panned out like he had read in so many books, so what was the point in trying to make another? 

His bleary eyes focused on a bottle of what he guessed was wine placed next to a cluster of glasses. "I suppose I could get drunk...To pass the time." Logan shook his head as he spoke. "Not drunk. Maybe just aim for a buzz? Perhaps I'll be more fun if I'm fluthered…." His logic fought against him, but his thoughts carried on, untethered by his own consciousness trying to reign him in. He looked about like a spooked owl, dreading that he already lost his chaperones and eventual saviors to the sea of bodies. Thirty minutes of this tedious party was going to be hell of a lot longer than anticipated at this rate and goodness knows how long it had actually been up to this point. Apparently, in all their decadence, the Anx family couldn’t be bothered to install a clock within eyeshot. Logan studied the glasses one more time and took one up in his hand. He could at least try to enjoy himself if he was going to be trapped. "Well, this swill is here for a reason. Cheers to me, I suppose." 

Raising a fresh crystal glass, the server filled it just shy of the brim before stepping carefully back to his seat. After staring at the glass for a long while, he took a sip, and immediately regretted the choice. "What is up with this manky gin?" Logan cursed, looking at the bottle. "No label…." He presumed the Anxs must have gotten desperate to ensure cups stayed full throughout the evening, and purchased either a cheap wine or attempted to make their own. They clearly couldn’t be bothered to break out what Logan guessed was an impressive stock in the cellar. "You should know better than to drink this, you bloody eegit. You could get ill…With any luck."

Logic didn't try to stop him from downing the first glass and raising it up to call for another.

\---

Virgil sighed as D shoved him unceremoniously into the crowd without a word. A multitude of well-dressed lads and lasses milled about the brightly lit hallways and ballroom, but they were the least of Virgil’s priorities. Virgil’s goal was to find a method of escape, to jump out of a window and make his way onto the roof just to enjoy a moment of fresh air and silence. Bitter winter cold be damned.

Virgil knew his cousin would make a point of keeping him caged in, but what he hadn’t anticipated was that D made sure that there was absolutely no possible method to get outside: locked windows, doors only opened by servants. The man clearly went through great pains to ensure Virgil’s attendance. Virgil cursed his cousin's name. D was a nuisance at best and downright diabolical at worst. 

Despite his mother’s best attempts at grooming her son and would-be heir in the fine art of socializing with the upper crust (or anyone for that matter), Virgil never considered himself to be a real deft hand at it, and found no good reason to start trying now. These tedious gatherings were more a test of endurance than any sort of fun. For a short while, a wonderful little while not too long ago, he had enjoyed and even looked forward to these awful parties, but now that Logan was gone, he saw little reason to bother with them anymore. They were a waste of what precious little energy he had to spend on anything other than being in a constant state of unease. A party is a party whether he was there or not, so why not let him leave them to it?

His bleary eyes scanned the room for some ounce of motivation to carry him forward into the fray, but everything felt ordinary: people chatting lazily in a smoky haze, drunk dancers tripping happily to the music, a jazz band in one room, a string quartet in another, red hair, overpriced and outlandish outfits of satin and silk, enough food to feed an army and...

Red hair? Damn sure he wanted to look and damn sure he didn’t want to see who it belonged to all the same. Virgil made his way over to a table tucked in a far corner, as far from the rabble as anyone could manage, but stopped cold in his tracks. There he was. Virgil would have thought him a sight for sore eyes if it weren’t for the state his former companion was in. Logan looked miserable, sat alone in another outlandish outfit the twins must have wrangled him in, making a sour, disgusted face as he gulped down the toxic, home-made gin he probably shouldn’t have been drinking. Although he looked spiffy, handsome even, his eyes were red and swollen. He was making a poor show at hiding the tears in his eyes, but everyone was too absorbed in bright and liquored events around them to notice. 

An icy feeling punctured Virgil’s lungs, sudden and jarring. I should talk to him. Damn it all, I should… I just can’t. 

He knew that wasn’t true; he absolutely could. He felt those familiar pangs of fear blown far out of proportion to even try. D had seemed oddly insistent that Virgil talk to Logan over the past few weeks and this certainly explained why his contemptable cousin funnelled him into this room on this night in particular, but he could damn well tell that Logan was in no condition to deal with him. No amount of pity could rival the mauldin expression on the ginger’s face. Logan used to like parties, and he needed company; he wanted someone to talk to, though he would never admit it out loud. If Virgil thought more highly of himself he would think a certain gloomy noble had dashed his hopes of ever making another acquaintance, let alone a friend. 

Virgil swallowed his anxieties down like a glass of bitters. D was right, he had a nasty habit of running away and now he had to make up for his mistakes. Virgil pulled out a golden mirror compact from his pocket to check his reflection, a lesson he learned from studying ladies around parties. His tired mazzard only made himself grumble, and he decided he was presentable enough. Stuffing it back in his jacket pocket, he gathered what piddly dregs of courage he could muster from nothing and marched forward. A few feet. An oblivion. He saw no difference.

\---

Logan jumped as Virgil took a seat next to him with no more grace than a sack of potatoes. He would be more surprised by a stranger daring to come close to him if it weren’t for the kinds of inhibition this sort of party encouraged. Virgil felt heat creep into his cheeks as cold, distant eyes met his. “Hello, can we talk?” Virgil asked with a weak attempt of a smile. It was forced and pathetic, that was for sure. He kicked himself mentally. 

Logan quirked his head in what almost seemed like a nod, letting his gaze sink back down to the marble floor. Any attempt at being the stoic jilted companion was lost as tears immediately sprang to Logan's eyes, brows furrowed in a deep knit. Virgil couldn’t be sure what the valet was feeling: anger, relief, alcohol? Perhaps it was all of these at once. Virgil had to figure that whatever Logan was feeling right then and there was most certainly his fault. 

“You….” Logan began, wiping at his face with the hem of his jacket sleeve, jostling his glasses. “You avoided me.”

“I know.” His answer was short, dry, to the point. There was no denying what he did. Only now was he finally taking steps to fix it. 

“I don’t know what I did wrong….” Logan continued, playing with his hands and breaking eye contact. "I mean, I know we're of different classes a-and perhaps you were just busy… but I would have at least liked a letter or even a window visit…." 

“You didn’t do anything. It’s my fault, Logan. I… I was avoiding you. Don't waste your efforts in trying to make excuses for me." Virgil shrank into his seat, feeling about as small as he possibly could.

“You.... You avoided me for so long. I looked for you, you know! I looked and you… you hid?!” Logan yelled, quickly lowering his voice as a pair of eyes swiveled in their direction before turning back to mingle with more far more entertaining guests. "What the hell was that about!? You hurt me, you selfish-" 

“I know,” Virgil cut in, not wanting to hear the end of that sentence. “Can we talk? Somewhere more private perhaps?” 

“I’m not sure. I am very busy trying to drink my troubles away.” Logan couldn’t help but smile at his own snarky response, taking another sip of his gin for emphasis. Virgil hid an endearing smirk when Logan coughed and winced. Virgil couldn't blame him; the aftertaste must have been horrid. 

“Ah, well that's a shame. How is that going for you?” Virgil felt a bit of his tension fade as a playful smile crept onto both of their faces. He could do this, This was easy. Talking to Logan was easy, playful, light. It felt right. 

“I’m only on glass two. This drink is terrible,” the valet admitted, swirling his glass with a defeated expression. "Next time I attend a party of yours, there better be good booze."

“There’s something I never thought I would hear you say. Here I thought you were a teetotaler down to your boots.”

“I’m not wearing boots.”

“It’s an expression, you lightweight.” Virgil let out a dry chuckle as he took the glass from Logan’s hand and set it aside. Logan scoffed and leaned forward, elbows resting on his thighs. Virgil had never seen him sit in such an undignified manner in public like this. He would be lying if he said he didn’t like the sight of it just a bit.

The two laughed to fill the silence that settled between them, enjoying the easy flow of the conversation. Everything seemed fine and going far better than Virgil could have ever anticipated but he could see Logan's lip twitching in an effort to keep the smile steady, his eyes casting down. "I'm glad you're here," Logan managed to choke out just before clamping his mouth with his hand.

A sharp breath reached Virgil’s ear before he had the chance to look down. “Damn, Logan, are you okay? You’re shaking. No, you’re definitely not okay. I’m getting you out of here.”

"I-I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm fine!" Logan bit out, words wet and unsteady, trying desperately to regain control of himself, to tamp down these unsightly emotional displays. "Oh God… it's the gin I swear. Let's just keep talking, I'll be fine." 

"No you're not…." Virgil quickly grabbed Logan's arm and pulled him to the one place he knew no one would go. He pulled Logan to a guest room, careful to watch for visitors using the space for… unwanted purposes. The second the door was closed, Virgil pulled Logan into his arms. The valet let out a sob, shaking as if a dam had finally given way, every wave of pent-up agony crashing down. If Virgil didn’t know any better, and he certainly did, he could guess this was the start of an absolute panic.

Virgil could feel the adrenaline pumping through Logan's body, pulse thrumming quick under the skin. He loosened his hold on Logan just enough out of fear that he couldn’t breathe. Though, if he eased up too much, he wasn’t sure Logan would stay on his feet. This was the worst way Virgil could have imagined seeing Logan, broken and defeated. He hated it. He hated himself. 

“I didn’t want to hurt you, I promise…." Virgil swore, trying his best to get Logan to balance on his own feet. He had to get Logan standing and breathing. He decided then that he could beg for forgiveness later. He almost laughed at his scatter-shot attempts at staying cool and collected for the sake of his friend. The valet felt like a lead weight in his arms, unable to move. He was sinking… 

“Well you failed, horribly. You hurt me so horribly! Y-you were horrible!” Logan forced out, slowly giving into the embrace that seemed to be the only thing keeping him upright. Virigl knew that even in his despair, Logan couldn’t make himself stay mad. If anything, he seemed to crave more touch, more attention, more company. "Virgil... I-I can't breathe. O-Oh… Oh god. Wha- I don’t. Can’t--" 

“Logan?” Virgil’s heart ached as he felt a weak pair arms curl around him in desperation. Logan was touching him, clutching him; he was hugging him as tight as he could him with his hurt arm. Virgil knew he didn’t deserve it, Logan's care and forgiveness was sacred and too easily obtained. Yet, somehow, Logan began to calm down from the affection even if his breathing was coming in fits and starts. "Shhh, breathe," Virgil ordered in a collected tone, gently rubbing Logan's back and loosening his tie. If this was like any panic attack Virgil had ever experienced, he could safely assume he was grappling with some pretty heavy stuff pent up from weeks of stress but helping to get him out of that dreadful knot couldn’t do the poor valet any harm.

“I know, I failed. I apologize,” Virgil said almost too quietly to be heard as his clumsy fingers worked the last of the tie knot loose. Taking a deep breath that he so desperately needed himself, he took Logan’s face in his hands, urging him to meet his gaze. Wary eyes darted for the floor, but Virgil only tutted and lifted his chin a fraction higher. Gently wiping under his glasses to catch the last exhausted tears before they got too far, Virgil felt his own chest uncoil when Logan took what seemed to be his first lungful of air in minutes. Watery eyes still coming down from the rush of panic locked in on him with an unsettling clarity.

"Why did you leave me?" 

The question hit harder than anything else that unfolded in front of him this evening. Virgil wasn’t sure why. He was avoiding trouble, confrontation, he at least knew that much. The reason managed to spill out of his mouth without him having time to think.

“I didn't mean to. Well, I did...but I didn't want to! I’ve just… realized something lately." Virgil let Logan go, remembering why he was distancing himself from the man in front of him. "I am not sure I am the best person for you. All I will do is hurt you like my father did all those years ago. That is why I decided to hide. I'm fairly certain I'm capable of ruining your life.”

“The factory wasn’t your fault!" Logan cried. "Don't be so dramatic. It didn’t involve you." 

“No, of course I didn't leave because of only that, but it was a sign.” Virgil allowed his hand to graze Logan’s cheek to catch one last runaway tear before folding them sheepishly in his lap. Even as he spoke, he knew separating himself from Logan would be impossible. Distance wasn’t an option. Virgil never believed in fate until he met the man with the mask in his hand, but as time marched on he could just feel that they were connected in some bizarre, inexplicable way, tangled in a thread tied at either end to unlikely fingers. “I am bad for you, Logan. I am dangerous to you." 

“No, you’re just saying these things without giving me a chance.” Logan’s hands trapped Virgil’s as he continued, willing the noble to keep from running and stay put for once. “Let me decide that for myself. Give me the chance to decide something instead of taking it away.” He let go and blushed, realizing what he was doing. "I've… had too many things in my life taken away…." 

The closeness between them felt so right in a way, a strange, odd, fluttery butterfly inducing way that Virgil couldn’t begin to understand. "I just--” Virgil ran his hand through Logan’s hair, freezing when he realized his head was practically a rock from how much product was wrangled in it. Virgil missed his curls. More importantly, he missed Logan. He had to tell the truth. “No, I'm being a coward." Virgil took in a large gulp of air before continuing. "I will let you decide, but you won’t like me.”

“And how do you know that? How well do you really think you know me?”

Virgil let out a dry hitch of a breath and shook his head. “Just, close your eyes?” 

“Alright, but if you break my other arm, we’ll have a problem.” he teased with a chuckle, gently closing his blonde lashes. “Also please, don’t run away again. I won’t forgive you.”

“I won’t run.” Virgil sighed, heart burning. “I’m letting you decide,” Virgil warned, swallowing the lump in his throat. Logan nodded his head, which only added to Virgil’s nerves. This was wrong; he shouldn't be doing this. Cupping Logan’s face in his hands, Virgil gently pressed his lips under both of his eyes, tasting the shame and betrayal he had inflicted on Logan. This was wrong, but there was no turning back at this point. He had to commit. “I… I love you.” Virgil whispered before capturing Logan’s lips with his own. 

Logan froze. His eyes slowly opened to meet Virgil’s. He wasn’t sure what was happening. 

Virgil pulled away the second Logan opened his eyes. Hot shame crept up his collar and made its way to his cheeks. He was stupid. This was stupid! 

“I’m sorry…! That was wrong of me, so wrong!" 

Logan blinked in shock, causing Virgil to continue rambling in a panic. "It's just-- oh, I realized it from the first night I met you. You’re so handsome and so damn intelligent. It is so easy with you, and I don’t know, you felt... different. I love everything about you; your hair, your body, your mind, your heart, your soul, even your arm. I wouldn’t change a thing about you. If you want to run, I understand. If you hate me, I understand. This is why I didn’t want to share! You're right, I was running. Your arm felt like a warning sign for me. I… got scared. I am a coward, Logan, but hopefully you will learn to love a coward. Oh, I'm so strange! You should have let me run! Why didn't you let me run, Logan!? Don't tell anyone! Oh, I'm sure you don't even feel that way about men--”

Logan laughed nervously and pulled Virgil in for a kiss he felt emboldened to take for himself. He pulled away from Virgil with a delighted gleam in his eyes. “Is this kissing? Oh, well, I mean romantically of course... Did I do it right?” 

Virgil stuttered in shock. He had never heard a noise so giddy and innocent from Logan before, like he had made some grand discovery. He could see Logan's hands trembling in excitement. “Yes? Haven’t you ever kissed someone before?” 

Logan teetered slightly on his feet. “Yes, well on the cheek, so no…. no, but I, I liked it. It was… an unusual sensation." A small blush coated his cheeks. “If it is any comfort to hear, I love you too…. You’re very wise and I understand your mind better than anyone else I know. You’re kind as well. Well, you were mean for that while there and terribly immature about a situation that could have been resolved by just TALKING to me, but I still stand by my last statement." Logan chuckled again in a voice so unusually airy, stepping from foot to foot and wringing his shaking hand. "I-I don’t know what to say, I feel like I can’t breathe again, but it is different this time. My heart is beating at a very fast rate, and my face is all hot, and my stomach is all fluttery. I can’t stop talking. Please interrupt me before I ruin this….”

“Really!?” Virgil asked, kissing Logan again. “You love me back?” This time the redhead wasted no time in kissing him again, clearly enjoying this more than he thought he could. His heart hammered, every touch feeling like electricity flowing through his veins. “And to think, this whole time I was trying to avoid your reaction! What an idiot I was.” 

Logan chuckled. “Yes. And should I ask why?”

“I… didn’t want to hurt you.” 

“Well, you ended up hurting me by avoiding me,” Logan responded curtly. “Let’s be honest from now on; let’s talk. That way, we will never hurt each other.” 

Virgil nodded. “I’m not sure I can, but I will try. I will give you my heart and soul. I won’t hide again.” 

“Do you promise?” 

“I promise.” 

Logan giggled again, pulling Virgil into a hug. “Well, I would honestly prefer you keep your heart in your chest to continue to pump blood through your veins, though I gather from the look on your face you are being metaphorical so I’ll stop talking.” Logan paused with a relieved smile. “I’ve missed you.” 

Virgil smiled. “I’ve missed you too. Shall we sneak cheese and wine again? The good stuff this time.” 

Logan nodded. 

Virgil pressed another hesitant kiss to Logan's lips before laughing. "This feels right, much better than before." 

Logan continued to nod. 

Virgil examined Logan once again. "You're wearing my color…." 

"Well, you're wearing my color." Logan retorted, motioning to Virgil's blue attire. "It seems we are both thieves." 

"Yes, it appears so." Virgil grinned his signature feline smile. "Now let's go rob the wine cellar of the good alcohol. The stuff D put out is horrible."  
\---

“You know, they call this new style of music ‘swing.’ It is becoming very popular.” Remus tapped his foot to the music, eyeing the drink table as he explained his new taste in music to Roman who only seemed marginally interested. His brother merely pulled out a shiny golden compact from his breast pocket and checked his reflection intently. Remus huffed and leaned lazily into the table with legs haphazardly crossed. 

Logan was normally brooding in some corner at every gathering, so it wasn't hard to keep an eye on him, but he was simply gone. He kicked himself for not checking on Logan more frequently, and hoped the boy wasn’t making a fool of himself. By his watch it had been almost an hour.

“It’s very exciting if you ask me,” he continued, trying his best to ignore his fears, hoping to all creation he hadn’t gotten far. Logan was a grown adult; he could make mostly logical and sound decisions. Still, he couldn’t help but remember him as this small ginger child constantly asking him to read anything he could snatch from the bookshelves. He’s no wide-eyed babe these days, but those pangs of annoyed concern never seemed to fade. 

“I think it sounds horrendous. Those, oh what do you call them, those noisy bits they play over the piano and bass? I hate that part the most. It sounds like they make it up every time," Roman complained, snapping his compact shut with a flourish. 

“Improv?” 

“Yes. They’re horrible. Ghastly, if I’m being perfectly candid. The music doesn’t stay the same and it’s hard to follow. Why does it have to change every damn time?” 

“That’s the point; it is something new every time.” Remus took a sip of his drink before cringing. “This booze is terrible.” 

“Agreed,” Roman whipped his head around the room. “Speaking of booze, where is Logan? Last I spotted him he was blending in with the wine glasses at that table over there in the corner.” 

Remus swallowed his concerns like a firm, bitter lump lodged in his throat. “Hmm, not sure. He’s a smart enough lad not to get too deep in his cups. Don’t need Patton giving me hell for letting him get shitfaced like his ‘Pa’ in those good old days.” 

Remus earned a swift kick from Roman square in the shin. “Now, let’s not pay into that unsavory banter about his lineage, Doctor doom.” 

Remus shrugged, flippant towards the absent father that landed Logan in the life-long lurch he found himself in in the first place. “Perhaps he ran off with his little Anx friend. I thought I saw that sourpuss flitting about not too long ago. Probably avoiding that warlord of a father.” 

“It’s about time,” Roman sighed. “They haven’t seen each other at any events. Maybe that will snap Logan out of his doldrums.”

Remus hadn’t considered the possibility, and somehow his twin managed to soothe his worries if only a fraction. “Yes, I’m sure he’s with that gloomy fellow….”

Roman smiled a vicious grin, an expression Remus grew to hate. “Oh spit it out,” Remus cried. “What the devil are you on about? You never say anything good after a face like that. And to be perfectly honest, the evil cheshire grin is my trademark, dear brother, which you are infringing on with abandon. Just get on with it, you thieving thespian!”

“You’re worried~” Roman sang. “You’re worried about your little ginger kid.”

Remus sighed. “I just don’t want him to drink too much, okay? He was very ill after the last party, couldn’t recall a single event from the night. We’re lucky one of the ladies put him to bed after she found him being felt up by a group of girls. I had to clean his vomit at home as well and that was deeply unpleasant.” 

“You’re a doctor. It’s your job.”

“It doesn’t make it any less unpleasant. Blood? delightful. Bones, innards, and entrails? Just another Tuesday. Vomitus is where I draw the line.”

“I didn’t know you had a line, Remus. Color me impressed.”

Remus studied the floor, unable to look Roman in the eye. “Truthfully, I don’t think Logan was all bent out of shape about his arm.” 

“Oh?”

“Yes,” Remus looked around the room again. “He was worried about a woman.” 

“Oh!?” Roman cried. “Are you sure?” 

“Think of how he’s been acting: crying constantly and scuttling away like some hermit crab, drinking his problems away when he thinks we’re not looking. And just weeks before he came home with a skip in his step and flowers in his hair. Try and tell me he wasn’t with a woman,” Remus pressed on, happy to get his new found observations of his chest. “And the kite he brought home that one time? I’m sure he went to a garden with her. His excuses to ‘go to the market’ I’m sure are just sugary sweet little rendezvous he doesn’t want us privy to. Patton must have noticed his new-found pattern of outdoor excursions and that’s why he’s been giving Logan the grocery list without even realizing!”

Roman almost dropped his glass. “You’re right! My god, you’re right!” He looked around the room. “So who is she then?” 

"I'm not sure. There haven't been any rumors about any of the ladies courting. Perhaps he fell in love with a maid…." Remus shook his head. “I bet she broke his heart and that’s why he’s been moping. He makes you look utterly docile.” 

Roman scoffed at the frail little insult and shooed it aside. “It’s best not to ask him about it then. I’m sure he’ll confide in Virgil.” 

Remus grinned as he spotted a familiar redhead in hushed conversation with his pale-faced companion. His eyes looked puffy as if he were crying, but from what he could tell, he seemed to be set right about himself again. Virgil nodded along as Logan spoke. "Well, speak of the devil. Seems you were spot on, brother,” Remus commented with a smile. "It looks like Logan is opening right up to him."

“Thank god. Maybe we’ll finally get our good ol’ street mouse back to normal sooner than we thought.”


	14. Where We Belong (Part 3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LSDHKJDFGH This has been a long time coming. Finally, the light at the end of the tunnel on this party (our old couple gets a bit of closure on this saga very very very soon- just not today).  
Lovingly co-written by myself and Artssoon_Symphony (IG)
> 
> CW: Alcohol and food mention, talk of physical and emotional abuse and loss, light cursing, many feels. Hold onto your hat.

_Winter 1925- Later that night, somewhere in the Anx manor_

Music thrummed through the winding halls. No matter how far Logan felt they got from the center of the manor, taking turn after turn, the crooning sound of brass and string seemed to follow their every step. The noise and revelry was cover enough to ensure the two absconders could spend a quiet moment more before either of them could be caught. Logan felt like a bumbling buffoon with each echoed step compared to Virgil who soundlessly padded over the marble floor with cat-like grace. The young noble stopped short and took Logan's hand, slowly craning his head around a corner. Toeing further down the hall, he whipped his head around like some wartime intelligence officer inches from blowing his cover.

“Would you stop your stomping already?” Virgil hissed over his shoulder. 

"I’m not stomping. It’s these godawful shoes,” Logan protested as he stepped up right behind his companion. “If you're so concerned about being caught," Logan began, moving to tug his hand from Virgil’s, "then why are you so insistent on holding my hand?" 

Virgil tightened his grasp and blushed, tucking his chin into the starched white collar D forced him to wear. "It...it feels wrong not to hold it now." 

Logan chuckled once under his breath and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "Fine then. Let's hurry, though. I think I hear someone coming from… wherever the hell we just came from." It could very well be the adrenaline of the evening’s events or simply that the effects of that bitter tonic their hosts passed for liquor finally wearing off, but he couldn’t deny he felt the beginnings of excitement tug at the corners of his mouth. It was a unique sensation, feeling a sudden urge to move faster, carried by the thrill of this game of hide and seek. Virgil’s firm hold on his hand was all that was stopping him from breaking into a thrill-laced run. Logan took a deep breath, tamping the swelling anticipation down his gullet, waiting eagerly for Virgil to make his next move.

A beat more and Virgil nodded, pulling Logan along. They passed door by door. Soon the halls became darker, only lit by the meek gaslight on dusty old sconces. Logan puzzled over this. Surely they could afford to have their entire home wired for electricity. Even his little inner-city hovel had a working lamp when his pa bothered to pay the bills. If he didn’t know any better, he would have thought he was being transported into one of those sensationalist Victorian novels Master Roman seemed to enjoy so much.

"Please tell me you aren’t planning to murder me? Or lock me away in some attic like a crazed lunatic in a flowing white gown? Or..." Logan teased, counting off each baffling trope on his fingers with a ponderous look. 

"Wh-wh-why would you say that!?" Virgil cried. “ 

"Oh, I was kidding. I too am perfectly capable of ‘cracking wise’ as Patton puts it.” Logan sidled up to Virgil’s side, giving him a gentle jab in the ribs. “I'm being led down a dimly lit hallway by a handsome man, just the two of us, quite alone…. The only thing visible a few steps in front of us is more dark hallway with the faint sound of music to keep us company." 

"And so your brain goes to murder?" Virgil asked. "I think of something entirely different now that you mention it…. I’m coming off as a real sleaze here, aren’t I?" 

"What do you think of then, if you don’t mind me asking?" 

"Nothing," Virgil coughed, blush blissfully hidden by the low light. "Anyway, we're here." 

Virgil turned on a lamp just inside the door and shoved Logan inside with a none too ceremonious push between his shoulder blades, before making a swift exit and shutting the door behind himself with a crisp clack. 

"Am I being murdered now!?" Logan called, wavering undecidedly between intrigue and alarm. 

"Only a little,” Virgil responded, voice muffled by the door. “I'll be right back!" 

Logan chuckled dryly and looked about. It was a smallish room, mostly empty, save for a rather large bed and a raven black dresser with hints of rococo gold leafing around the ornate feet and trim. On the dresser laid a bible, collecting dust and spine entirely uncreased from disuse. A bedside table worn and nicked at the corners held another small reading lamp. A harsh sliver of light from the garden below peered through the heavy drapes drawn tight over wide windows.

Logan gently sat down on the simply made bed for lack of anywhere more courteous to sit and sighed. The bedroom lacked any warmth or personality of its occupant and Logan couldn’t help but feel uneasy. For a moment he wondered if this was Virgil’s room. If it was, it felt altogether too blank. It was serviceable, sure, but felt nothing like a young person’s room should. Even as an employed valet, Logan had, over time, made his sparse and simple room feel like home. He kept the things that mattered to him and gave him some sense of a tether to reality: books he both plucked from Remus’s shelves and ones he bought for himself, papers scattered across the second-hand pine desk, the battered kite he had failed to return sitting snug in a corner.

This room was just that. A room. 

Sudden jostling of the door knob and the light squeak of the hinge announced his companion’s return. Not missing a beat, Logan turned to speak before Virgil even finished toeing the door closed behind him. “Do you feel like you belong here? Or that you belong anywhere else BUT here?”

Virgil stuttered and mumbled in surprise, but quickly regained his composure, shrugging off the implications of the question entirely. “I suppose so… Or not. Now, what type of cheese would you like?” 

“Virgil,” Logan whined. “That doesn’t answer either question. Come, let’s talk about you a little.” 

Virgil huffed and sunk down into the comforter next to Logan. “Oh come on, you have never felt like you didn’t belong somewhere?” 

Logan blinked. “No, I always felt like I belonged somewhere…” Logan reflected on the question a moment more, trying to shuffle through old emotions and memories he usually kept tucked away. “Well, I suppose I have felt… out of place. There were three instances, but they were just phases in my life.” 

“Well? What were they?” 

Logan’s eyes narrowed. “I was asking you the questions.” 

“Logan, come on, your life is so much more interesting than mine.” Virgil sighed when Logan still refused to open his mouth, tipping his chin up to the ceiling. “Fine,” he relented. “I guess I truly never felt like I belonged anywhere. I’ve always been the black sheep of the family. Hardly a shock, I suppose.” 

“Did you mean to say ‘black cat?’”

“I’m not sharing my thoughts with you anymore.” Virgil flopped back into the soft comforter, draping his arms over his eyes.

“No! No! Tell me! I’m quite serious when I say I want to know. I do not enjoy begging.” Logan could practically hear the smirk that spread across Virgil’s face, eyes still covered by the crook of his elbow.

Virgil sat up again, eyeing the bottle of wine he set on the bedside table. “Only because you’re insisting.” He looked back at the ceiling. “But truthfully, there isn’t a lot to share. I was born into a rich family, which is pretty damned obvious from…” Virgil trailed off, gesturing silently around himself. “The expectations are just… too much, you know? You’d be much more suited for this life. You seem more responsible than I could ever hope to be.” 

Virgil ran a hand through his hair, mussing whatever feeble attempts at a coiffure he could actually manage. “As a child I didn’t even want to learn how to read,” he soldiered on. “I didn’t see the point in trivial things like that. I wanted to see the world; I wanted to travel and explore and discover new things.” He turned his head towards Logan, ducking his head down close enough to tap Logan’s forehead with his if he really wanted to. They were both too close, but too far apart at the same time. “I am not the leader I am supposed to be.”

“How so?”

“You can’t possibly not see it. I’m not built for this sort of thing. I don’t bleed steel and profit. So instead, my father plans to hand the reins of the business over to D. The rightful inheritance of the son going to a nephew instead. It’s supposed to be a punishment, but truthfully it’s a relief. I want to be away from this life, this pointless, dirty, vile money.” Virgil sighed, and turned away from Logan again. “Dirty… such a simple word, but that’s how I feel when I’m here.” 

“Dirty?” 

Logan knew dirty, in the literal sense. Grime and oil seeping into old cotton and denim togs, coating his skin in a perpetual layer of filth no amount of scrubbing seemed to do away with. It was dirty work laboring in a steel mill alongside haggard men his age many times over. But when Virgil responded to his confused look by studying his own feet all the more intently, Logan realized he meant something entirely different. Something more unsettling and bone-deep. A part of him wanted to urge him to continue, to fully understand what he meant, but not at the cost of what tenuous hold to contentment he seemed to get from Logan’s company.

About to open his mouth to tell him to stop if he wanted, Virgil straightened and shook his head quickly as if to jostle the words loose. 

“This family. The name alone sounds so wrong. It sounds like grinding machinery and shouts and hate. It sounds like my father….” Virgil sighed. “I loathe him, you know this. God, I despise the man. Logan, do you know what it feels like to hate a person with your whole entire body and mind?” 

No, Logan thought, slowly wrapping his arms around Virgil’s frame, burying his face in the crook of Virgil’s neck. He couldn’t be sure if this was the right thing to do, but he worried in some illogical way that if Logan didn’t hold him he would just vanish. “Why, though? Why do you hate him? He’s… he’s your father.” Even if he wasn't the most astute gentleman, Logan always wished for his father to return, to stop drinking and just come home and feed them. He knew it was foolish, but the idea of having a stable family still alive nipped at the back of his mind.

“My mother,” he began softly, almost showing a ghost of a smile. “You would like her, I think. She would certainly love you.” Logan didn’t remember seeing Mrs. Caroline Anx at the party, not that he had anything more than a hazy memory of seeing her once when she arrived at the mill to visit her husband. Her kerchief pressed to her nose and mouth and kept her head turned away from the gritty reality on the factory floor. He does remember the immaculate sheen on her black hair coiled into a perfect twist, topped with an airy lavender hat. That’s hardly enough to paint a complete picture of Virgil’s mother, so to speak, but he silently hoped she looked a little bit like Virgil. Small, dignified features, soft, dark eyes. Ethereal in a way that seemed just beyond what was real.

The tone Virgil took when he spoke of his mother hardened, stiff yet brittle. “The things he does with my mother. I can’t stand it.” Logan felt Virgil’s body tense, enough to shake from his very core. “I don’t think they were in love to begin with. She tries so hard, Logan. She cooks for him and cleans and coordinates all of his social gatherings. She takes care of the servants and makes sure they’re well cared for, at least the ones my dear old dad didn’t fire in a rage. She looks after the needs of not only her son, but her nephew as well.” Logan held Virgil closer as the noble’s voice began to waver. 

“He doesn’t care. He hits her and yells. There is so much yelling when it’s just the two of them behind closed doors. He...insults and barrates her for having me, blames her because she’s unable to have another child to replace me. It's not her fault, though. I damaged her. She almost died having me….” Virgil freed his arm to draw Logan just a bit closer. “And the thing I hate the most is that she takes it. She takes every insult, every beating, and doesn’t even try to stand up for herself. It's infuriating watching my father stand there and torture someone so small compared to him. She's so powerless in her position. She's his property and I hate it. She's his slave." Virgil pressed his eyes shut then, drawing in a ragged breath. "And I give my father hell in return. I act like a shit son because he treats my mother so poorly, and she certainly isn’t going to stand up for herself so I take on that role.” 

Logan smiled sadly, choosing his next words with absolute care. “It sounds to me like you do belong here… in your life, you just haven’t realized it.” 

“What? How?” 

“With your mother. Rather than focus on your hatred for your father, focus on your love for your mam.” 

“‘Mam’?” Virgil chuckled, turning over to peck Logan lightly on the lips. “Aren’t you sappy tonight.” 

Logan gave something between a breath and a giggle, something Virgil found excruciatingly endearing. “I suppose so. My mam used to tease me for being sentimental.”

“You?! Sentimental? That doesn’t quite seem… I don’t know… you?”

“I- yes, though that’s a tale for another day.” Logan almost seemed uncharacteristically wistful then.. Just for a moment. “In any event, I suppose we have shared quite enough for one evening… Virgil, you are making a rather peculiar face. I haven’t said something to upset you, have I?”

Virgil’s face split into a feline grin, leaning in close with hands just out of view. “It’s too bad really,” he mused quietly, “because now you have to die!” Virgil pounced on Logan, furiously tickling his sides. Any attempt at keeping his jacket in proper condition was dashed at this sudden attack.

Logan exploded into laughter. “No! I knew it all along! You so willingly shared the family secrets! What a fool I was!” 

“No one who learns of the Anx family secret can be allowed to leave alive!” 

Logan let out one last child-like shriek before closing his eyes and sticking his tongue out. That giddy excitement he felt creeping around the hall returned in force. He felt like a kid again, in the warmest, brightest way. Virgil poked him in the side earning another tight laugh. A sweet little kiss was stolen before laying next to each other, the first happy tears Logan can remember in his eyes. And Virgil’s. Logan hoped he could hold onto this feeling just a touch longer.

"I feel like I belong with you," Virgil said after a moment of silence. Logan propped himself up on his forearm, studying Virgil intently. The roiling excitement of the moment before had given way to a contented quiet. In those deep, dark eyes Logan saw something earnest and raw. 

"I feel like I belong with you too." 

Virgil swallowed a sudden lump in his throat, wrapping his hand around Logan's. "Am… am I one of those three times?" 

"My my, don't we think highly of ourselves.” Logan eyed Virgil for a moment and turned his gaze to the ceiling.

"Well, was I?" Virgil urged.

Logan sighed. "Yes...it broke me. Figuratively of course." 

Virgil kissed Logan's hand. "I'm sorry, Logan. Truly, I am." 

"It's fine.” Sitting up, Logan pawed gently at his arm. “I'm used to it. To feeling broken." 

"That's… not fine at all!" Virgil declared loudly, sitting up on his elbows.

Looking back, Logan felt a pang of guilt for being so transparent. Virgil looked up at him hanging on that beat of silence. Resolving not to tamper with the fragile threads of their new relationship, he decided then to simply lay back, settling in next to Virgil who moved to lay his head on Logan's chest. 

"You shouldn’t have to feel that way, you know," Virgil declared, rolling his head under Logan’s chin. Logan chuckled. Old emotions broke the surface of his mind, threatening to drag his first fleeting moments of delight down into the murky depths. 

"Life has, I suppose, been wonderfully kind and fair and altogether… awful. I am lucky to have made it here despite it all." 

"How so? Oh, you don’t have to share. You did just say-" 

"No, it’s alright. It’s all rather simple really. I live comfortably enough. I have employment and a roof over my head. And now, I have you." Logan’s eyes traced the constellation of pockmarks in the ceiling plaster, gathering all of the variables in this most atrocious equation. "But to get all of that I lost my mother, my siblings, my arm…. What else do I have to lose for my life to continue on in this way I wonder? That's what I ask myself every day. Even to get you, I had to lose you first. It...worries me. I wonder what is going to be taken from me next…." 

Virgil hooked his finger under Logan’s chin, giving it a gentle tug in his direction. "Logan…." 

Logan let out a wet, breathy laugh. "I try to bury those memories, in a figurative sense, push them as far back in my mind until I hope I can’t reach them anymore...but I still see her, Virgil. I feel insane." 

"Your mother?" 

"Yes, I've tried every method in the book to forget her: repression, closure, trying to visit in my dreams. Nothing seems to work." 

"Tell me about her." 

“I don’t know, Virgil,” Logan sighed, pressing himself up to sitting with Virgil following closely. I could, but I believe we shared enough for one night.” Logan replied, adjusting his glasses so they sat correctly on his face. “It is a rather dark subject. Isn’t this supposed to be a party?” 

“That’s hardly fair. I just opened up to you!” Virgil wined petulantly.

“It is just too much for tonight.….” Logan repeated again. 

Virgil wanted to pry. His curiosity bubbled in his chest and begged let loose, but there was something about Logan's expression that stopped him. He could feel Logan’s heart pick up pace as he pulled him in close. Despite his even expression he seemed cracked and worn. There was a mild tremor as his hands loosely gripped the back of Virgil’s jacket. 

Virgil pressed a gentle kiss behind Logan's ear and sighed. "Right, enough of that for now... Maybe a splash of wine?" he offered, pulling back a fraction. 

Logan shook his head dimly. "I think not. I already feel ill from whatever I drank earlier. I wouldn’t be opposed to just staying here… like this? Just for a bit while I get my wits about me again." The start of a blush crept over the field of freckles across Logan’s cheeks.

"I don’t see why not. We have all night." Something warm unfurled in Virgil’s chest as Logan settled back, letting his weight sink into his partner’s chest. With every ounce of control, Virgil led them both down into the soft mattress, shuffling slightly to wrap a protective arm around Logan’s shoulder.

Staring intently at the ceiling, felt something cold tug at his contentment. As if waiting for the perfect moment to rear and buck at his mind, sudden, very real anxieties took hold. 

Someone could walk in. 

He had to check on the party he swore up and down not to ditch.

Logan could come to his senses and run. 

He scoffed at himself for that, knowing full well he'd be a right hypocrite if he got upset because Logan ran for the hills. He was unsure what to do with himself at that moment. Normally, staying hush and letting things run its course from a few miles away from the problem was his forte, for better or worse, but for the first time he felt bold enough to face these things, all of these things, head on. He needed to talk. He needed Logan’s logic and unfathomable fortitude.

Shifting a touch beneath Logan’s weight, felt the man’s breathing soften, becoming deep and unfettered. "Have you fallen asleep?" Virgil whispered. 

Quiet.

Virgil smiled with a smallish huff. This was so very nice. He didn't mind this and guessed rightly that Logan needed the rest. Logan had such a demanding lifestyle that Virgil couldn’t begin to understand how he summoned the energy day after day. That curly-haired valet balanced more responsibility on his pinky finger than Virgil could ever think to shoulder with all the help in the world. Virgil sighed, knowing Logan would argue this point to the end of days if given the chance. Instead of dwelling where his mind didn’t have the wherewithal to linger, he chose to absently play with a stray curl that escaped one of Roman’s pins.

Still, there was too much room for unwelcome thoughts, leaving him searching for distraction. He gently slid the glasses off of Logan's face and set them to the side, grinning fondly at the little scrunch of the valet’s nose before settling back into a newly calm expression. His rusty blonde lashes would flutter every so often, his resting frown twitching into a dreamy smile. Virgil took the time to count the freckles that painted his skin, losing count time and time again. So many stars. 

"Your face is like the night sky…." 

He hadn't meant to say it aloud. It somehow slipped out with his nose buried in those softening curls. Not that it mattered anyway. Logan was quite asleep. 

\---

The twins scurried about, storming from room to room to find their missing streetmouse. They had to shake a leg if they wanted to be well out of dodge before unwitting party guests became too sober to go back on their deals. Leave it to Roman to always carry a nice pen and a few fill-in-the-blank contracts in his silk-lined dinner jackets, poised and at the ready for whenever a deal is ready to be struck. And, according to Remus, it is always smart to make a well-executed exit before second thoughts materialized from the wine-soaked fog. 

"Where in this hellhole could he have skittered off to?" Remus grumbled. 

"Oh calm down brother. Perhaps, for once, we find ourselves in his well-worn shoes. How often have we found that poor kid skulking about these parties looking for us to take him home. It’s nothing we don’t deserve," Roman said, trying to sooth the rising urgency in his brother’s step. "Still, I'll admit, seeing them together is rather...odd. I’m tickled he found his companion and seems to have regained that precious little spring in his step, but couldn't Logan have chosen someone a little more...likable than Virgil Anx?" 

Remus sighed. "True. There’s nothing at all of value to be gained from that spineless cat if you ask me. Why didn't Logan befriend his cousin? Now, THERE’S a match worth its weight in ill gotten gold." 

Roman chuckled dryly. "I agree. There's something so… wonderfully charming about that D. Why, no one even knows his name, but they're so willing to boldly trust him." 

"No denying it, dear brother mine. Logan has poor taste in friends." 

"Oh now, we all know Logan can be a little strange, and Virgil is certainly strange. Perhaps in their strangeness they find balance."

"Waxing poetic, Roman? This is hardly the time." 

The two trekked around another twist in the hallway. "Are you getting the sense we’re about to stumble upon a grisly murder, or is it just me…?" Remus commented, taking in the dim light, knocking on every door they passed.. 

"Really? Murder?" Roman asked, utterly baffled. 

"And you were thinking, what, a room of kittens and feather down cushions to sit our regal behinds upon as we join the Queen of England for tea?" Before Remus could knock on his next door, it flung open, nearly sheering Remus’ nose clean off. 

"Can I help you?" Virgil asked in a low hiss, eyes narrow. 

Roman peaked around him. Logan was nothing more than an inert lump on a bed much too big for his spindly form. "Ah yes! Just the chap we were after! Why… Why is he asleep?"

Virgil slowly stepped back from the door frame. "We were talking and he just.” He gestured lazily toward Logan, making his point in as few words as possible. “He's not a people person, you know. All this traipsing around from party to party really did a number on him." 

Roman's eye twitched. The way Virgil spoke to him, his passive aggressive tone, Roman hated it. "We know, but look, he made a most delightful little friend out of the traipsing as you so kindly put it." 

Virgil rolled his eyes. "Yeah, wow, I'm sure it only took a hundred parties and it finally clicked. How lucky for him." 

Remus scoffed and went over to Logan's side, not so gently shaking him awake. "We're leaving now, kid. On your feet." 

Logan shot awake, cheeks red. "VIRGIL I'M SORRY I--" He blinked incredulously when he saw Remus, letting out the air he too quickly sucked in all at once. 

Virgil gave him his signature cat-like grin. "Yeah, you better be sorry. I sat in silence for hours." 

"Oh, shut up, I'm sure you enjoy the quiet," Logan teased, standing up on unsteady legs. The two traded a guarded laugh as the twins moved toward the door, motioning for Logan to follow. 

"I'll see you around?" Virgil asked. 

"I believe I should be asking you that," Logan retorted, one foot over the threshold. 

"Oh, you'll see me. Bye now. Victor Frankenstein and Fancy Pants would like to take you home now." 

Logan bit his cheek to keep from laughing and nodded. "I'll see you then."

The twins unceremoniously dragged him out as soon as they said their goodbyes, taking him firmly by the shoulders and tugging him along. 

"I don't think I've ever seen that dour kid smile," Remus commented to himself. 

"I don't think I've ever met someone as rude as him," Roman huffed. 

"Why did you choose him of all people to befriend?" 

"I think he’s quite nice. And he’s quiet…unlike-” Logan began.

"I’ll ask you not to finish that sentence. And I certainly don't agree." Roman groaned half-heartedly, muttering something about insolence and rudeness and manners.

\--- 

The ride home felt endless, filled with the twins’ curious questioning about Logan’s unlikely new friend. The valet would have told them both to mind their own business if he weren’t their employee. Roman asked about how his perfectly placed hair pins could have been so out of place and Logan failed to mention Virgil’s fingers gently running through his hair. Remus asked about the red tint in his eyes and Logan kept entirely hush about how these maddening new emotions were going to drive him up a figurative wall. To give them an inch about it would mean they would take a mile and he knew they just wouldn’t understand. The only person he had the energy to talk to so late in the evening was likely tucked in his worn old cardigan, plush hands curled around a mug of something warm and familiar. 

Logan nearly tumbled out of the auto on gummy, gin-addled legs, hustling just out of reach of Roman’s hands as he tried to pluck at the pins sticking out from haphazard curls like a porcupine. Toddling with new-found urgency through the servants’ wing, he found the only door with warm light trickling out from underneath.

Logan barrelled through the door, slamming it shut behind him, not at all aware of the rattled man who nearly fumbled the mug of hot tea right into his lap. "What in the blazes!? Logan! You know to knock! What if I was--" 

"I believe I have a boyfriend," Logan blurted, standing rod-straight, bright eyes boring into Patton’s. 

"What…?"


	15. At The End of the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1968- Logan is coming down from a mild panic at the home of inexhaustible hosts Stella and George during what was supposed to be a pleasant evening with his husband. As Logan and Virgil settle in, one question is left unanswered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, remember chapter 11??? Yeah, you may want to peruse the beginning real quick because WE'RE FINALLY GOING TO SEE HOW THAT SCENE ENDS!!! I've missed our old Analogical dearly.  
The across-the-eras party saga is now COMPLETE.

_1968- Later that evening_

__

_“I’m still here, aren’t I?”_

_“So you are.”_

\----

“And I said to George… Oh George, what was it that I said? Right right! I said ‘there’s enough food here to feed an army!’ Of course, my dear sweet George said ‘then why don’t you give President Johnson a ring and we’ll call our boys home from the front for some good ol’ fashioned holiday cooking!’ Can you believe him?! Really George you’re just too much! Isn’t he though?” Stella’s eyes glittered with enthusiasm, lit like a vision of clashing colors from the evergreen that buzzed with dozens upon dozens of bright lights. What could easily be the most mundane of stories took on an exciting tilt when told by the inexhaustible hostess. Virgil and Logan, settled comfortably with hot cider in hand, let their focus lull to the sound of her canary-bright voice.

The previous hour passed in relative comfort as they watched the party go on around them, reminiscing over an evening a lifetime ago. The party itself was uneventful, very much like all the others. It was the circumstance they found themselves in, with help from needlessly prying individuals, and three words that made the night itself so important. I love you.

There were no more questions. No more curious uncertainty. That night alone laid the groundwork for the decades to come. For a few moments, surrounded by a flurry of festivities and music, Logan and Virgil were lost in a thought, wrapped in the warmth of mulled wine and rich jazz music filling the gaps in their shared memory.

When the moment drifted lazily away and Logan regained some of his color, they sat and simply enjoyed each other's company. Of course, it hadn’t been long until Stella ambled over. A small crowd had gathered to hear the tale of the creation of the party’s fabulous spread, attracted by the dazzling tone of Stella’s voice. Guests had invited themselves to join Logan and Virgil on the couch as Stella flitted about, gesturing excitedly with her champagne. Virgil held his husband’s hand firmly in his own, keen to keep him grounded. 

For a time, Logan found the presence of all these people, some good friends of many years, other’s perfect strangers, oddly calming. Focusing on their voices and laughter gave him a much needed distraction from the lingering tightness in his chest from earlier in the evening. After a time, he felt the hold on his hand loosen. Looking over at Virgil, he found his eyes had drifted closed, but his brows remained furrowed in discomfort. It became immediately clear that Virgil had reached his limit for the evening, no thanks to his own little meltdown Logan was certain.

Logan leaned into Virgil’s shoulder, brushing the pad of his thumb over his husband’s brow. “Dear, are you well? Should we make our way home?”

Virgil shook his head softly, eyes still closed. “No no, I’m fine.” A hint of a smile crossed his lips, entirely at odds with the concerning knit of his brows and the purplish shadows forming under his eyes. “Could use some air though. Care to join me or do I have to venture out all on my own?” He peeked one eye open towards Logan who only sighed and held out his hand in response.

\---

The evening was crisp, but far from bitter. Snow was hardly a possibility with how clear the sky was over their tidy little burough. Crooning holiday tunes crackled over the record player and carried sweetly through the night air. Virgil leaned into the railing overlooking George and Stella’s back garden, chin tilted up towards the sliver of moon drifting out from behind the scant few clouds in the sky. A warm mug tapped his hand. Wrapping chilly fingers gratefully around the drink, he turned and settled his weight back into the rail. Logan stood before him, haloed in warm light seeping out from the kitchen. In the dark, Virgil couldn’t quite make out his expression, but judging by his rigid stance, he was concerned. What a tired old couple they were. If it’s not one having a moment, it’s the other.

“I’d advise you to drink that before it goes cold, Virgil. George assures me this is the most fortifying drink in his repertoire. I’m going to assume the bow was Stella’s idea.”

Virgil quirked a brow at the observation and finally took a moment to give his drink a real look in the low light of colorful bulbs strung along the roofline. The sweet smell of honey and lemon was cut by something sharp. Bourbon? No, it wasn’t smooth enough for bourbon. Knowing his friend, it was likely whiskey. Fortifying indeed. What really caught his attention was the bright red bow tied neatly around the top of the cinnamon stick in his drink.

“A hot toddy,” Logan announced. “I was honestly never the biggest advocate for such a drink. Likely due in large part to Remus forcing a rather… strong one on me when I came down with the flu as a teen. There was so much brandy mixed in, I was sick to my stomach for days. I don’t think I had ever heard Patton yell at him so loudly before. George seems certain this will do the trick...whatever that means.”

“Cheers,” Virgil said dryly. The whiskey and cinnamon burned on its way down, but was quickly soothed by the honey. He sighed and set the mug on the rail, letting his eyes trail up towards the moon in a moment of picturesque wistfulness. The image of the soft light in Virgil’s eyes and wisps of warm breath nearly stole Logan’s away entirely. Images of a young man staring up at the sky, miles away from the parties inside, drifted lazily across his memory. This was why he went to these gatherings. Moments like these made him feel just a touch closer to those memories he held so dear. He never thought of it that way until just then.

“I…” Logan began, taking his place by Virgil’s side, eyes drifting up, “I’m quite sorry for spoiling your evening. You seemed to be enjoying yourself. It was… quite satisfying to see you in there amongst the crowd. I know that typically goes against your usual proclivities, so I can’t help but feel at fault for… you know.”

A warm hand took his. “You didn’t spoil anything Lo. I’m having a great time of it, really. I just needed a breather. Stella’s voice can be a bit…”

“Grating?”

“For lack of a better word.” They shared a light chuckle but their gazes were still fixed on the sky. “I should be the one apologizing anyway.”

Logan turned back to Virgil who seemed too transfixed on what was above him, eyes distant. “And why’s that?”

“I shouldn’t have dragged you out. You don’t need this right now. You’re not… you’re not we--”

“Virgil, I am fine.” Logan’s steely tone shook Virgil from his reverie and for the first time since they came outside, their eyes finally met. Logan took his other hand in his own and squeezed. “We must not stop living our lives because of some minor complications. What good can it do to be cooped up, withering away by the day? What I saw tonight, for the first time in far too long, was you living. Truly living. You need a community of people. People who can support you. Something beyond me.”

“Minor complica-- Logan, nothing about this is minor! Why would you say that?! You’re all I need. All I have ever needed! Those people in there…”

“Are our friends,” Logan finished softly. “And while I have come to depend on your constant presence and support, I know that you will eventually need something more than what I can offer. Eventually…” He couldn’t finish the thought. Throat tight, his eyes suddenly burned, threatening tears. The hold on his hands tightened, giving him the resolve to forge on. “Virgil, I am just fine. For the moment, right now, my only concern is to ensure you are fine as well. Now, let’s get you back inside.” His step towards the backdoor was stopped short with his fingers still entwined in his partner’s who only looked straight on.

“How many parties?”

“What? Virgil, what do you me--”

“How many parties? Do you remember how many of those awful parties you went to looking for me back then?”

Logan was drawn up short by the sudden question laced with a pleading tone. “I-I am not certain.”

“You said you looked for me. Tonight... you said you looked for me. That’s what you meant. It wasn’t about tonight.” A pause. “How long did it take?”

Logan searched deep in the archives, but that far back the images were faded at best. Irreparably degraded at worst. He remembered gaudy outfits, loud music, and ceaseless whining from his masters. He remembered a lot of wine… or was it gin. Too much of it, whatever it was. The sound of Patton chastising the twins for letting him drink so much bubbled to the surface. “Virgil, that… that is not at all important. You are here now. That is what’s important, alright? We are here.... Now, let’s return inside. The cold is making this old arm rather sore.”

Logan gently pulled Virgil to his chest, wrapping him in his arms. Tucking his frosty nose into the crook of Logan’s neck, he couldn’t help but shiver at the sudden warmth. The soft scent of lavender tickled his nose. Virgil hadn’t realized that in trying so hard to fight the urge to run away in his youth, he slowly began to fear venturing too far. If he did, he might lose the one good thing he ever had the unlikely fortune of having.


	16. A Change of Pace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after the party. Both parties.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi hello yes. Hope everyone is staying well! This chapter wassss.... a struggle. If you spot some egregious grammatical, spelling, or syntax errors, I deeply apologize. No amount of proof reading and editing by either of us seemed to catch them all.
> 
> Anyhow, enjoy <3

_1968- Late December- The morning after the party_

Virgil wasn’t what Logan would classify as a calm sleeper. Bony elbows jabbed into ribs, pilfered blankets, shifting and tossing and turning. One night early on in their domestic life, Logan was startled awake by Virgil sitting up, stalk straight and eyes closed. Before Logan could register what was happening, his still-sleeping husband reached down and snatched the pillow right out from under Logan’s head, clutched it to his chest and flopped unceremoniously back down, punctuated by a clipped, sharp snore. Logan, not wanting to startle Virgil, tried his best to pry his pillow from his husband’s arms but gave up after too many unsuccessful attempts. When Virgil tottled down to the kitchen the next morning, Logan rubbed his neck with comical exaggeration and complained of a crick. Virgil, in his innocent concern, asked if he needed a new pillow which was met with a deep chuckle.

“I should think so. Mine was stolen quite literally out from under my nose.”

Returning from the party late into the evening, Logan wasted no time ridding himself of his stiff evening clothes, scrubbing his face with warm water and burying himself into chilly blankets. As Logan settled his weary bones into bed, his husband already there, he felt Virgil pull him close, tucking the quilt tight around them. Nose snuffled into the back of Logan’s neck, he felt Virgil’s breathing slow and they both drifted into a night of deep, restful sleep.

\---

Morning light filtered through the drapes, crisp and bright. At some point in the night, Virgil had shifted to the edge of the bed with his back to Logan. Without a thought, he shuffled closer and threaded his arms around Virgil’s center and pulled him into his chest, causing him to stir.

“G’morning,” Virgil mumbled into his pillow, voice thick with sleep.

“Good morning, gem. Breakfast?” Logan blew a teasing puff of warm air into the nape of Virgil’s neck, earning him a shiver.

“No, too comfy.” Logan began to shift to pull away when Virgil pushed back to meet him again. “And if you leave this bed and steal my warmth, I swear I won’t be merciful.”

Logan laughed, deep and low in his belly so Virgil was certain to feel it. “We can’t possibly spend the day here.”

“And why not?”

“I thought we might take a walk. That holiday market shouldn’t be too busy this time of morning.”

Virgil turned to face him, searching his deep blue eyes for some note of sarcasm or jest. To amble into crowds was hardly his style, especially by choice, but he was entirely earnest.

“I won’t force you to go if you are still tired from last night,” Logan began with a tinge of worry. “I thought it may be a good exercise for us both. The fresh air will certainly be invigorating, and I--”

Virgil pressed a gentle kiss onto Logan’s nose to quiet him and tucked his head beneath his chin to keep him from talking himself more into a corner. He knew exactly why he wanted to go. Bustling markets, no matter where or when, were where his fondest memories lived. Memories of stolen smiles and hands brushing as if by accident. Their own little secret place in a sea of people. 

“Let’s go,” Virgil responded, pressing his bed-rumpled hair into Logan’s chin. “But coffee first.”

*********************************************************************

_1925- Late December- The night after the party_

Virgil woke with a groan, tossing an arm over his eyes at the sound of a gentle tapping at his bedroom door. 

“Master Virgil?” a voice called with trepidation. “Master Virgil, Master D requests that you join him for breakfast… Master Vir-”

A sudden _thwap_ on the other side of the door cut the unassuming maid short. Virgil, in his ever disagreeable morning moods, hurled his pillow hard at the door, grimacing at the effort it took for the follow-through. Tucking himself deeper under the heavy down comforter, he could still hear the startled maid calling his name. 

“Master Virgil, Master D requires your presence now,” the lone maid stated in mock confidence tinged with rising consternation. She was one of the few left in the Anx’s employ and was eager to be of any use for fear that her number too might be up at any moment.

“Tell Master D to go toss himself in a lake,” Virgil growled from his bed.

“I-I’ll not stand here and let you speak ill of Master D.”

“Or what? You’ll tell on me?”

The maid gathered her skirts in a huff and whirled around to be face to face with D himself, dressed smartly in a deep gray wool jacket and hair oiled back with a slick sheen. He held up a gloved finger to his lips when the maid opened her mouth to speak. Stepping silently around her, he rapped the door twice, sharp enough to echo down the long hall.

“Weren’t you listening or do you need me to repeat the message,” Virgil began, marching to the door in a mess of uncombed hair and rumpled shirtsleeves from the evening before, reaching to tear the door open. “Tell that snake to go screw himself!”

When fog of interrupted sleep finally faded his eyes focused first on the glowering maid standing firm behind the trim frame of D who fixed a sly smirk to his face at the disreputable sight of his cousin in his evening clothes. “Now, I’m not nearly limber enough for such an… activity so early in the day.” Turning his gaze briefly to the maid, now a deep shade of crimson. “And that is not an appropriate topic for a young lady to hear regardless of the time of day. On your way,” he said lightly, dismissing the maid with a wave. Wasting not a moment, she turned on her heel to beat a hasty retreat around a corner.

“Now,” D sighed, pushing past Virgil to step into the dark cave of a bedroom. With the heavy drapes pulled tight, there was no knowing whether it was mid-morning or deep into the night. With a few airy steps, D threw the drapes open with a flourish, flooding the dreary room with crisp morning light. Before Virgil could think to dash from the room in search of another dark corner, his far more agile cousin took three impressive strides and swung the door shut. Virgil, blinking off the temporary blindness, grimaced and flopped face first into his bed.

“Alright enough,” D spat, losing his even temper. “You are acting like a petulant child and it is frankly embarrassing to watch. I’ll not bother talking to you until you act like the adult you claim to be.”

“Fine, then leave,” Virgil spat in muffled rebuttal.

“And I’ll not leave either. Unfortunately for you, I have a clear agenda today.” D lowered himself gracefully onto a threadbare vanity stool, crossing his legs with languid ease. Plucking his gloves off one finger at a time, he neatly stacked them on his lap and folded his hands over top. A picture of an endless well of patience.

He sat in silence for a few minutes, watching his cousin shift slightly, clearly listening for the sounds of D’s departure that never came. Finally, he forced out a reluctant sigh and pushed himself to sitting, eyeing D from under the fringes of his tousled hair.

“Okay, fine. Since you’re not doing me the favor of leaving, I’ll bite. What do you want?”

“I believe you know precisely why I’m here, dear cousin.”

“I can’t say I know to what I owe this pleasure,” Virgil said in a mocking, highbrow tone.

D pushed air through gritted teeth, remembering Patton’s stern warning not a full two weeks prior to learn a little tact when it came to the affairs of the heart. Sure, this party was an elaborate plan to reunite those two bungling idiots, but D would be hard pressed to let a cherry business opportunity pass him by. He had hoped that seeing his gangly little friend would be enough to shake him from this infuriating stupor and come to his senses. Virgil was an Anx and needed to act like one. 

Seeing Virgil’s sleep-deprived feral stare, D was done handling this young man with kid-gloves. He pushed himself to standing, lording over his cousin with words primed on the tip of his tongue. “I set up a wonderful party for you, a golden opportunity to prove yourself, and what in the world did you do?”

When he was met with a blank stare, D threw his hands up in frustration at Virgil’s bull-headedness. “You hid. You absconded with that lanky little ginger the entire damnedable night!” D cried in frustration, pacing the length of Virgil’s bedroom guarding the door from any manic attempts at escape Virgil might take. “I mean, really Virgil, your father won’t be pleased about this. I practically cherry-picked a fool-proof business deal for you to close, but you skulk off into hiding the entire night until the party was essentially over and people were tripping out the door. But, lucky for you I made a deal with the president of Kegley Refinery, and I believe by the grace of God I cozied my way into Miss Christine’s company, and if that works out then we can establish holdings in the precious metal industr--”

“I don’t care.” The response was cutting, brutal even, but entirely honest. When it came to his cousin, he never bothered to sugarcoat anything; D could always tell when he was lying anyway. The older man threw Virgil a scrutinizing stare and pushed his shoulders back. Virgil nearly jumped when D turned briskly to the door, pulling the handle and moving to leave. 

“I refuse to have this conversation with you looking like that. Run a comb through that mop, put on a fresh shirt and be downstairs in ten minutes. I’ll not ask you again.” Without a second glance, D walked out, the door closing with a sharp click. 

Not wanting to test the bounds of D’s patience and the potential for his father’s wrath, he knew to do as he was told rather than to chance the consequences.

\--

The main hall was barren and empty; a hollow shell of what it had been the night before. Without the boistrious laughter and buzzing energy of the music, it was all painfully boring. 

Stepping lightly around emptied tables, his eyes landed on his svelte cousin, leaning into the great oak door frame with a cigarette precariously balanced between his fingers, elbow resting against his hip and staring off into the winding, slithering smoke.

Virgil shuddered at the cavernous silence of the great hall. The sound of his own breathing was almost deafening. “We need servants again,” he sighed. “I don’t know how you can stand tobe around the rich and mighty every day. At least I would have someone to talk to.” Changing topics- he liked changing topics. 

“Mmm, I suppose you’ve always been a fan of the lower class, that one ginger in particular.” D recrossed his legs and turned to cast a knowing look over his shoulder at his cousin. He couldn’t help but toy with the boy just a bit for making him go through all the trouble of planning this party for him. “That’s where you were the entire damn night, am I right? Did you two run off together? Did you make him yours?” The older teased, whirling around and snaking his arm around Virgil’s shoulders. “It would be a shame for you if someone were to find out.”

“Are you black mailing me?” Virgil asked, eyes entirely bored, not rising to the bait. Under normal circumstances, a statement like this would be cause for alarm and make his skin go clammy, but not from his cousin. “Because I really don’t have anything to give up. Unless of course, you'd like my name, but I assure you that is a curse and not a blessing ”

“Oh, now let’s not start with this tedious repartee. It’s just...strange is all. A man and a man….” D gave Virgil's shoulder a squeeze before letting go, feeling old battle worn fears prick at his skin. “Though, I suppose you’ve always been strange, hmm? This arrangement… you know, being with another… well, it suits you. I just urge you to use caution. Your strangeness only gets you so far.” 

Virgil gave him a feline grin, masking the blush creeping up from his collar. “You can go on and on about how weird it is, but, out of the two of us, one has a partner and the other doesn’t.” 

D tsked. He had a partner at one point, he just made a choice, one that he knows was right for them both. “If you’re so close with this servant, then use this to your advantage to prove your usefulness and strike a deal with those flashy twins. If you really can’t stand them, which at times I can’t blame you, maybe talk to your new special friend and he can get it done.”

Virgil’s eyes narrowed, processing what his cousin was proposing. “Absolutely not. I’m not using Logan for a business deal. He’s already had a rough go at father’s ‘business’ in the past. To make him go through that again is cruel.” 

“Don’t tell me the poor bastard worked there. He probably lost something if he got laid off,” D chuckled. His eyes widened as Virgil squirmed uncomfortably. “Well, I’ll be damned!” 

“Yeah, yeah, shut up.” 

“Well, what happened!?” 

“I’m not telling you of all people.” 

“You’ll tell me eventually. Secrets make you so...anxious,” D hissed, circling around Virgil with predatorial strides and an intense stare. “That’s why you always tell me everything eventually. Secrets are far more fun when you have someone to share them with. And we both know you’ve told me things you haven’t told your own mother.” 

Virgil straightened his spine, looking to the ceiling as if it would grant him any strength against D’s persuasiveness. Despite his weasley nature, D was a man of his word and always kept a secret when asked. “Okay, I don’t know what happened! I just know he hurt his arm,” Virgil admitted, opening his arms wide. “I don’t have the details. He wouldn’t tell me. So much for your hot gossip.” Virgil played with his bangs before sighing. “I just don’t like the steel mills….” 

“Well, I’ve told you before, if you don’t like it, then take it over and change it.” 

“I’m not sure I can do that….” 

“You’re a coward,” D intoned. He was being a hypocrite, but that wasn’t the point at the moment. He knew his cousin was brilliant, stubborn, perfect for the business world. “You just need to grow up and start taking responsibility for the business you are lucky enough to inherit. You know as well as I that if you could just lie to your father, pander to him even a little, you'll gain his trust and support. Then you could go completely behind his back and change everything. Go in and rework the system. Change comes with activism.”

“I don’t like to lie, and I’m sure you’re changing the system anyway,” Virgil huffed. It was moments like these that his disdain for D came on strong, especially knowing that his cousin was right. D had an infuriating tendency to read Virgil like a book and had a perfect read on the things even he couldn’t begin to understand for himself. “I’m just not suited for the business world.” 

“So you’d rather be a servant like your sweet little partner?” D scoffed. “You wouldn’t survive a day.” 

Virgil’s eyes saddened. D was right about that too. 

“So anyway, what’s your plan?” D asked. 

“With what?” 

“This man of yours!” he chirped, lips curling into his devious, conspiratorial smile.

If there was anything that frustrated Virgil more than anything it was the familial trait of changing subjects on a dime. It was one thing to do it to protect himself, but for D it was just another way to keep his unsuspecting prey on their toes. One moment his words could make him feel two feet tall and the next he would be bending your ear in the most lulling, dulcet tones. Virgil eyed him closely, knowing deep in his bones what the answer was.

“That’s the dumbest question I ever heard you ask. I'm going to love him,” Virgil answered flatly. "It’s just the same you would do with any of your lady friends if you bothered to keep one around for more than a night." 

“Hmm, alright then.” 

“What’s with that response!?”

“Nothing, nothing,” D responded, ruffling Virgil’s hair before straightening his own lapels. “Now if you excuse me, I must meet someone.”

“Who? I thought you said you had nothing going on.” 

“None of your business.” And with a swift turn and a confident stride, Virgil’s overbearing cousin was gone again, but goodness knows not for long enough. 

Virgil sighed and watched D saunter noiselessly down the great hall steps. It wasn’t until he was well out of sight that he let his feet carry him back into the winding halls of the manor. At one point, he nearly collided with the one lone maid he had terrorized not half an hour before. With a short, clipped apology, he side-stepped the fuming young woman and continued his aimless wondering. This was a fitting punishment of course for not taking any responsibility in his life and as a result he spent his days dreadfully bored. He needed something exciting in his life, but not so exciting that he sent him tumbling into a spiral of dark, frantic thoughts. What he really wanted was something just a step above a mild encounter. Just something to occupy time and mind. 

A sudden creak of old, unoiled hinges caused Virgil to jump. He could hear Logan’s low chuckle and teasing nickname in the back of his mind. A middle-aged woman of soft, ash-colored hair and honey-brown eyes stepped out into the corridor from her isolated little study with a soft smile. Virgil’s mother, a kind-hearted woman defied everything that defined an Anx. Lithe and sylph-like, she had about as much grit as watered silk. A woman of unparalleled grace and a tireless loyalty, Caroline Anx took her lumps without protest. The daughter of “young money”, she married the ruthless heir of the Anx fortune for the sake of her family’s future. It’s no secret that Virgil thinks she deserves better, but would never abandon her dear, delicate son whom she swore to love and protect.

“I know you had quite a lot on your plate last night,” she began sweetly, reaching to brush the hair from Virgil’s eyes, “but I was wondering if you’d still like to go out today!” 

“Go…?” Virgil began, slowly raising a brow. 

“To the market! Silly boy, you know we go every week! Oh, you're probably worn out, don't worry, I'm only teasing you.” Caroline placed a comforting hand on his shoulder and gave it a light squeeze. Her touch was never cruel and Virgil couldn’t help but lean into it despite every attempt at acting cold and distant. 

He cursed under his breath. The market, his one safe haven. Ever since he stopped trying to run into Logan “on accident” every week, he used this as an opportunity to get his sainted mother out of the house. Now that he was certain that Logan was back in his life, he had to find a way to reclaim his precious alone time. Still, he felt safe in assuming Logan wouldn't be going to the market after such an exhausting, emotionally fraught night. That loud-mouthed chef had been going on these weekly trips himself as of late and surely, he could have one more outing with his mother. She deserved that much. "Of course mother," Virgil responded with the warmest smile he could muster. "Should we be off then?" 

Virgil's mother clapped in delight and beamed. The two made their way out of the house arm in arm into the chilly December day. Caroline had never been allowed to learn how to drive and Virgil blanched at the prospect of operating one of those awful monstrosities so they happily made their way into town on foot. This suited Virgil fine, prone as he was to running off with as little fuss as possible. As for his mother, the extra time was time well spent with her only son, finally in the comforting company of someone who would listen intently to anything she had to say. Caroline treasured this time with her sweet Virgil and cared not a fig for chill-nipped fingers and toes. 

Her words rambled and flowed freely in a way she could never do cooped up at home at the beck and call of her demanding husband. She was a kept woman, unable to keep the company of lady friends because their “shrill noise is nothing but a distraction.” Virgil, for his part, tuned out the bulk of the gossipy prattle, but did what he could to coralle her to something like a point. He didn’t mind much. He loved his mother and for her he would try to be good company. 

"--and then Polly told me that her husband tried to iron his own clothes and failed miserably! Burned a hole right through them! Virgil, remind me to teach you how to iron so you don't make the same mistake. Why, her husband ruined a perfectly fine suit, a nice wool flannel! How on earth does a man manage to burn wool I’ll never understand. Truly a gas!" his mother cried while grabbing Virgil's arm and giving it a firm squeeze. “Oh, Virgil you simply must let me teach you a thing or two around the house at some point. If you burned a hole in your own clothes, why, I’d never forgive you and neither would your wife!”

"Of course, whatever you feel is necessary," Virgil responded absently, mind wandering to the night before. He wondered if Logan was thinking about him. Was Logan getting his ear talked off as well? Knowing those two twins he was probably getting an earful, peppering him with endless questions about why they found him in a room with an Anx. And lord knows that chef packs an impressive pair of lungs. Logan's home was probably far more loud and exciting than his own, an endless cacophony of activity that would probably grate on Virgil’s nerves quickly.

Still, Virgil admitted he was lonely. The house staff was largely gone save for a scant few, but it was a far cry from the quiet bustle of his childhood. It went without saying, though, that he would always prefer the dead silence over a full on fight. Any note-worthy noise nowadays meant that he and his father were having another round of the ol’ verbal fisty cuffs as the political cartoons call it, or old Percival was needlessly berating his mother for no real reason other than it was his marital right. 

Virgil tried to imagine Logan getting into disagreements with those noisy twins but just couldn’t see it. Logan seemed to be much too mature and, oddly enough, too timid to get too hot under the collar and lash out. At most, he may push back at a scolding for overworking himself by Mr. Patton. Now, that seemed more likely.

"--Virgil? Virgil!" his mother cut in, snapping him out of his trance. "Are you alright, dearest? I asked a question. You’re not ill are you?" 

He cursed his inattentiveness. "Yes, I apologise, I’m listening, I promise. I am rather tired from last night. I did a lot more socializing than I intended and I think the aftermath is starting to hit me," he answered, swatting away her concerns. 

"Well, that's new for you! Who were you speaking with?" Caroline’s eyes sparkled at the thought of her instructions on social decorum finally taking hold. 

"I-I forgot," he fibbed. "I'm terrible with names. Oh, some swell in a suit or another. I just can’t remember." Virgil held back a rising laugh at such a blatant lie. Something about his mother’s near constant shifting of topics was like a conversational tick Virgil was accustomed to, but it was near impossible to keep up with her once she got going.

"Oh, have no worries! Your father always forgets the names of his peers. I have had to whisper names in his ear or point them out time and time again over the years. Oh, you know Bill Walters, yes? Well, your dear old man misplaced his name for an entire year! A year, Virgil, can you believe it?!" She patted Virgil on the back. "We just need to find you a wife like myself, and you’ll never forget a thing in your life. Maybe she’ll even break you out of that pesky impenetrable shell of yours." 

And there was the rub: the end all be all reason he couldn’t tell her exactly who he was with all evening and nearly every week since spring. There was no possible way he could explain to his mother than he was in love with a man, let alone one so below his station. He was well aware that he was entering marriageable age, and that his mother wished for nothing more than for her dear son to find a suitable wife to make him happy. He figured that as long as he kept a healthy distance from any breathing available young woman on the market, he would never have to worry about betrothal. The absolute worst case scenario plagued him now: at some point his family will be done waiting and make the choice for him. 

"Oh, look at you getting all quiet and, my, look at that adorable blush in your cheeks. I suppose you would be more than a mite embarrassed of me talking about your future wife in public like this." His mother giggled behind her charcoal-colored suede glove and patted Virgil’s cheek with warm affection. He broke into a small smirk when, without prompt, she launched into an entirely new subject blessedly off topic. Something about wine and a mouse if he heard her correctly.

Virgil once again let his thoughts drift as they ambled down a quiet road, catching words here and there as they slowed their pace to match the flow of people ladened down with goods. He contented himself to let her talk and get all the socializing she needed out of her system. Perhaps if his father would bother to listen to her for once, maybe then she would be less inclined to condense all these winding and lively anecdotes into one barely cohesive conversation crammed into one afternoon a week. Even so, he couldn’t help but pity her. He really did wish that he was better at listening, to be the attentive company she truly deserved.. 

As his mind ambled and shifted from one thought to the next, so did their surroundings. Barren roads lined with winter-worn trees turned into rows of neat brick and stone buildings and small colorful carts steaming with the promise of roasted chestnuts and sweet creams. Farmers and artisans plied their trades and urged their goods onto passers-by at a time when the cracks in a strong, vital economy had yet to show. 

Normally an environment like this would have Virgil itching to leave, but something about the different people and colors drew Virgil in the stay a while to take it all in. He was particularly fond of the flower merchants, selling fresh pine wreaths and holly boughs in shocking shades of bright green and shimmering red. He quite liked more feminine fancies like flowers, though he would never admit it out loud. He would pick small wildflowers as he passed by on long, solitary walks, arranging them on his empty bedroom desk or stringing them up in his window to dry and preserve to enjoy a bit of somber color even in the dusty greys of winter. 

His greatest joy that he kept hidden in a small cigar box under his mattress was a small collection of stones and crystals that anyone would call frivolous and womanly. Tumbled smooth, cut finely, rough hewn and still flecked with dirt, he coveted each one equally, holding them gently in his palm to ground his flustered mind. More than once he considered gifting one of his precious pieces to Logan, but couldn’t help but fear that even Logan would think him too womanly, collecting shiny, useless objects like a crow. 

“There’s someone selling fresh bread, Virgil! Dear! Doesn’t it smell divine?” Before Virgil could finish the thought, his mother was tugging excitedly at his arm, urging him in a new direction. 

Virgil chuckled. She said that just about any time they went to the market. “Do you want to go over?” 

His mother responded happily with a quick nod and the two stepped with purpose into the inviting warmth of the small bakery. His mother studied the impressive array of still steaming buns and baguettes, chatting with the baker’s wife who knew her by name. Virgil nearly jumped clean out of his skin when he finally realized someone was much too close to him. Wrapped in far too many togs even for the chilled winter afternoon, the figure huffed, pressing wire frames back up his nose as he dipped his lanky form lower towards the glass case for closer observation. Virgil quickly stifled his surprise. He absolutely should have seen this coming. This was something straight out of those tacky Victorian romance novels. 

Logan nearly pressed his nose into the glass with a more than troubled expression. “I just get it wrong every time, my apologies.” he said, looking up at the baker who only crossed his flour-dusted arms in mock annoyance. He was more than enjoying herself, chuckling at this shambling young man who had done this nearly every week for months. 

“Why, you couldn’t tell the difference between rye and sourdough the last time you dropped by. The month or so before you couldn’t tell oats from poppy seeds. Maybe your family shouldn’t be sending you out with the list!” he teased, handing Logan a large loaf of bread.

Logan laughed nervously, his ears going pink. “Ah, I’ve told them that, but they keep sending me out to do it. Practice makes perfect, they say.”

It took every ounce of restraint, standing between his chirping mother and his newly-minted beau. _God, he’s terribly cute. I definitely can’t talk to him here._ “Mother,” he started, loud enough for Logan to hear. “I’m going to go see how the meat looks.” He could practically feel those rich blue eyes staring holes into his back.


End file.
